If Wishes Were Horses The Story of James Wilkins
by J. ROOF
Summary: The title pretty much explains this one and might just answer how and why Captain Wilkins sold his soul to the British Army.
1. Prologue

_If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. _

_~ 16th century English proverb_

South Carolina, Spring 1776

It was a short ride from Charles Town to Pembroke South Carolina and James Wilkins Esq. was taking his time heading home, using the ride to clear the uncertainty and frustration in his head. Considering how his day had gone, he did not want to lag around the city any longer than necessary.

He rarely went into Charles Town these days if he could help it. His small but successful law practice and family obligations kept him in Pembroke most of the time. Nevertheless, the Esquire behind Wilkins' name not only denoted him as a member of the bar, it also helped him gain a seat in the South Carolina assembly. That honor itself, required him to make the two-day trip into Charles Town from time to time to vote on issues such as this recent levy.

To say that James Wilkins was not pleased that South Carolina was entering this _war of independence _with Great Britain was putting it mildly. He was angry that his friends and neighbors wanted this. Wilkins did not appreciate paying higher taxes to The Crown anymore than his neighbors. However, the fact was someone had to pay the debt left from their last little conflict with France. Since it had been the Colonies that were defended, it should be the Colonies that paid.

There were other issues argued by Patriots that as a Colonist he understood. All that aside, Wilkins audibly snorted at the thought of what they had labeled themselves. A patriot was someone who supported their country. In his not-so-humble opinion that country happened to be Great Britain. To vote in favor of putting up thousands of men- not to mention the money- and go up against the strongest army in the world as well as ones own mother country was preposterous to say the least.

It was also treason in the eyes of the law. James Wilkins Esq. loved the law.

Were the Patriots really so sure in themselves and Washington's Continental's? Wilkins sure as hell wasn't. Nor was he about to stick around the city and listen to the celebrations over what he knew was about to become a catastrophe. They were celebrating the inevitable start of a war and he was not about to be a part of that.

As an attorney, some of Wilkins opposition to the war stemmed from a possible loss of business for him. He would surely lose legal connections and maybe some influence because of his political views. But as a family man, Wilkins knew he could not leave his children behind. If Benjamin Martin could use that excuse to vote against the levy- or in Ben's case, to not vote at all- why shouldn't he add that to his own list of gripes against it?

Wilkins had to admit, it had surprised him that Martin had such a negative opinion of a possible war. Wilkins had known the Martin's for years and had always thought well of Ben Martin. He had heard talk that Martin had once been a valiant soldier during the Seven Years War and even handled a few legal dealings for him.

For some reason Wilkins had just assumed that a man like Martin would be the first in line for a so-called patriot cause and was a bit shocked that he spoke against the levy. To hear him speak of not leaving his children and then refusing to cast a vote to send others in his stead only made Wilkins respect Benjamin Martin even more. At least someone else was thinking about the consequences.

James Wilkins could not afford to leave his family anymore than Martin could, and although he was still very loyal to King and Country, that was his number one reason above and beyond anything else, for voting against the levy.

Unfortunately the levy had passed. South Carolina would call her sons forward to follow the drum. If Wilkins had to pick up a gun, it would be for Great Britain but he would rather not pick up one at all.

In thinking of Ben Martin, Wilkins began to consider his own family now as he rode closer and closer to home. Unlike Martin, Wilkins had a wife _as well _as four children under the age of ten, the youngest son less than a month old.

It wasn't so much that Wilkins worried for the children. His three boys and only daughter were strong and healthy. God knew as well as he, his children were resilient little people. His wife Rachel on the other hand was neither.

When they were younger, James and Rachel Wilkins had loved each other deeply. They had married as soon as Wilkins finished his law apprenticeship and sat lectures at William and Mary. It was not long before their first son Mark was born, followed almost a year to the day later by another son, Jamey.

Pregnancy and childbirth had never been easy for Rachel. She was one of those unfortunate women who truly paid for Eve's sins with drawn out morning sickness and long agonizing births. Jamie had almost killed her and when their daughter came along four years later, it was no different. Or so it seemed. As Rachel recovered from birth, something changed. She no longer wanted to hold the baby. She could barely get out of bed. Wilkins would come home from work and find her as he left her that morning still wearing her night clothes, weeping over "nothing." His servants looked after the children and kept the household in order but the baby was months old before they even settled on calling her Callie.

It had been hell, but slowly, his wife returned to the sweet little lady he married. He did truly adore Rachel in every way that mattered. He gave her a fine home not too far from her family, she had as many servants as she wanted, and he gave her a generous allowance for her wardrobe and any other fripperies women always seemed to need money for. He respected her as a gentleman respected his wife; as the mother of his children and for the fine woman that he knew her to be.

Wilkins felt horribly guilty the night his wife came to him crying, announcing she was again with child. He consoled her as much as he possibly could, promising to hire a nurse for the children if she wanted, anything that would make her happy. When Rachel confessed she wanted to get rid of the baby, Wilkins was devastated. Nearly begging her rather than angrily demanding his paternal rights, he eventually got her to see reason, both of them knowing what was coming and neither of them being sure if they could survive it.

When _it_ came, it was in the form of a squalling baby boy they called Jesse.

For once, Rachel's pregnancy was uneventful and since Jesse's birth, his wife seemed to be doing better than expected. Maybe the ease of her confinement and delivery this time around had made the difference. It never made a lick of sense to him how some women appeared to bounce back from childbearing as if it were nothing and yet other women- like Rachel- suffered so much. Wilkins could never seem to speculate accurately about women's troubles and he was just happy he had his wife back.

Turning onto the drive that led to his house, Wilkins was relieved to finally arrive home. He trotted his horse those last few yards to the stables and handed his reins to his stableman.

Wilkins stomped up the back steps, knowing his children would hear him and he wasn't disappointed when they came running through the kitchen to greet him.

"Papa!" Eight year old Mark's voice cried out first as the door burst open. In seconds small arms were flung around his waist and legs. He was quickly brought to his knees where he was searched for any treats or trinkets brought from Town.

The lines of worry faded from his handsome face, his troubles and the threat of war becoming nothing but a quiet echo. He loved his children; they were his whole world.

"We missed you, papa," Jamey said, beaming at his father.

"I missed you too, son. Check my left pocket."

Callie pranced on her toes, excited anticipation written all over her toddler face.

Although Jesse had not begun to show his personality yet, Callie was Wilkins' favorite child. He could not deny it. He adored his boys, they looked so much like him- all three of them. They were his legacy but Callie with her silky dark curls and mischievous brown eyes, was her daddy's heart. He didn't understand why or how she had managed to wrap him around such a little finger but the instant he first held her, she had certainly done him in.

Her brothers adored their three year old sister as well and were protective in their brotherly ways. Mark would just about dare any other child in the village to bother his "baby" and Jamey treated her as a little pet. Patting her head when she did something correctly or making her hold his hand while they were out rambling the property.

They weren't the sort of brothers that tormented their little sister or made her cry and Wilkins was thankful for that. He wanted to instill the same family values in his children that his own father had taught Jim, his older sister, Emily and his younger brother, Tommy. The number one law was, God, family, country- above all else.

When Jamey pulled a mysterious cloth sack from his father's pocket Callie made an eager little gasp. He opened the sack and held it so she could look inside. When she reached in and pulled out a sweet, the children cheered, abruptly leaving him there on the floor, scampering to the table like pirates with loot to count.

A feminine chuckle drew his attention to the petticoat standing before him, his eyes traveled up to his wife's face. She was smiling. This was a good thing.

Jim took her hand and kissed it as he rose to his feet.

"How are you, honey?"

She rose up on her toes puckering for a ritual welcome home kiss. As ritual dictated- and because his wife could not reach his six-foot-four frame- Jim lifted Rachel by the waist, high enough that she could quickly peck his lips before he set her back down on her feet. They had started the ritual when they were first married and Jim could usually gage his wife's mood by whether or not she required it.

"Much better now that you are home," she answered. She was still smiling.

This was very good.

"The baby?" he asked. She hadn't shied away from him yet and he continued to hold her waist, trying to savor the moment, never knowing what to expect from her poor nerves.

Her smile widened. "He's been fed and changed and is napping. And guess what?"

Before Jim could respond she answered for him, "He slept through the night last evening."

"That is excellent news," Jim congradulated genuinely, stepping away so he could finally make himself at home.

That evening he tucked his children in bed and thanked his lucky stars that things at home were getting better. As he settled himself in next to Rachel for the night, Wilkins tried to set all the negative thoughts aside and clear his mind. Only God could possibly know what was to come in the next year and there was no sense worrying over thing that were out of his control.

It must have been close to midnight when Jim startled himself awake. With a sharp intake of his breath, he sat up and from that moment on his life would never be the same.

It had been the clicking of a pistol being cocked that had wakened him- or perhaps the sound of the dressmakers sheers Rachel had dropped to the floor.

At least that's what he told himself later.

Wilkins would never actually recall exactly what it was that woke him. Whether it was a sound he heard or something else, he could never be sure, but it had saved him and the children.

The moonlight streamed through the windows, lighting the room along with the soft glow of a small table lamp. That was when he noticed her just standing there over the baby's cradle. It took a minute to register in Jim's mind what he was seeing.

His darling wife, his Rachel whom he cherished and adored, was stark naked.

Her long dark curls- which had always been her crowning glory- lay in long chunks and little fluffs at her feet along with the sheers she had cut them with.

A feeling of dread crept on Wilkins like the tenth plague of Egypt and he realized his wife had finally broken beyond repair.

"Rachel….Honey, what's wrong?" Jim asked softly, not wanting to scar her or wake the baby.

With her once beautiful hair now shorn so close that in some places her scalp bled, Rachel lifted a shaking hand and that was when Jim saw the pistol.

She pointed it at him and he felt his heart break into a million pieces.

Wilkins did not even know if the pistol was loaded or if Rachel could fire a gun. But there she was with the hammer cocked and her finger on the trigger, pointing it at him with wobbling aim.

He took a slow, deep breath and said as calmly as he could manage, "Rachel, put the gun down... and come talk to me."

He held out his arms to her. "Everything will be alright, honey...come on, now-"

Her face crumpled and with a whimpered cry she put the barrel to her own head and fired.

Wilkins leapt from the bed to go to his wife. She was dead, there was no doubt about that. The right side of her head and face was blackened slightly from the fired powder and there was a perfect, round hole at her temple.

The left side of her head was missing.

"Oh, Jesus," he said to no one.

Blood and brains were everywhere.

The baby was crying.

Jim couldn't even think about what needed to be done. He would definitely need to move her. Trembling with the shock of what happened, he pulled on a pair of breeches, praying Jesse would settle back down. He felt like he was in some sort of hellish nightmare. Shouldn't he be crying or something? For some reason he couldn't bring himself to.

Just as the thought crossed his mind that this indeed must be a dream, his bedroom flew open and the housekeeper- who's trusted name even escaped him right now- began screaming at him that someone had set the house alight below stairs and they must make their escape.

The older woman, Mrs. Joynes, stopped cold when she saw Rachel's bloodied form on the floor. A brief look of pity flitted across her face and then her attention was drawn to fussing Jesse.

"She was gonna hurt the babe, wasn't she, Master Wilkins," she said in more of a sad statement than a question. Rather than wait for an answer, she picked up Jesse, wrapped the baby well and headed towards the door.

Jim Wilkins looked at his wife's remains still laying where she fell. If he wasted anymore time, they would both die tonight.

"I'm sorry, honey," his voice barely rasped.

He pulled the door shut behind him and walked away.

The next thing that entered his mind had nothing to do with the smoke that was filling the house or concern for any of his possessions.

Instead, his next thought was, _What am I going to tell the children? _

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><p>an; We'll do this the 18th Century way. Yea or nay?


	2. Chapter 1

Sorry about the lack of updates. I finally finished my Tav story. My step-daughter and grandaughter have moved back in again and I've had company staying with us. Full house+busy summer=little time to write.

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><p>1.<p>

_Charles Town, South Carolina August, 1780_

Many years after the Revolution- as it would come to be called- some would ask Jim Wilkins what ever made him make the decision to purchase an officers commission with the Green Dragoons rather than remain with the Loyalist militia. When those questions were asked he could never really give a straight answer. There simply was no straight answer. What it originally came down to was his ego and injured pride.

As he paced impatiently in the elegant foyer of a Charles Town mansion, Wilkins tugged at his sweat dampened cravat and shrugged at the heavy wool shoulders of his uniform jacket. The sweltering August heat was bad enough outdoors in South Carolina, let alone inside. He felt like an insect under a glass, set out in the sun to cook by a mean spirited child. Only he wasn't there because of a child. He was there because of a lady. Not just any lady mind you, but the wife of his commanding officer, Colonel Tavington.

Although once Wilkins considered it, his commander was often times very much like that mean spirited child.

Again, he cursed inwardly at himself, still wondering whatever possessed him to join the British army in the first place. Part of it, he decided, was indeed due to the horrible circumstances of his wife's death. Rachel's suicide had caused a scandal in the small village of Pembroke. Eventually the rumor mill began churning out terrible stories about the Wilkins family.

Servants will talk of course. Although, his servants had always proven themselves loyal, they were also traumatized by the ordeal and eventually word got out there had been gunfire. So of course rather than rally around Wilkins and his children and assist them in their time of sorrow- which would have been the Christian thing to do- the villagers shunned them out of fear and superstition. In turning their backs on Wilkins, some spreading rumors that he had shot Rachel and giving pitiful looks to the kids while whispering gossip from behind their hands, the village of Pembroke gently pushed him out of town.

Wilkins closed his law office without a word and moved the family to live with his sister.

It wasn't long before the Loyalist militia sent out their call to arms. With his sister and brother-in-law's encouragement, Wilkins signed himself up for a tour and joined them. Then he re-enlisted again for another tour and then another. He knew his children were safe and secure; eventually they stopped crying every time he had to leave them. Mrs. Joynes was still with them and his brother-in-law agreed to hire his two stable hands on for himself. Ralph and Billy Fuller- two broken down former jockeys who Wilkins wouldn't doubt had a swarthy past- were the perfect solution for protecting his children and he was happy they had followed him.

Yes, Rachel's death had certainly been the catalyst. But the turning point came for Wilkins just a few months prior, when he was in the middle of a friendly little fencing duel with a British Infantry comrade, Captain Ramsey Edwards.

Edwards had been giving him all sorts of hell over Wilkins size and speed and wagered that he could wear him down before Wilkins could win the bout. Wilkins made Edwards put his money where his mouth was that day.

However, it was another officer that took notice and stood by to watch. Eventually he interjected with a few critiques for Edwards and it soon became apparent that this Bordon fellow- which was what Edwards called him when he politely told him to "shut his pie hole"- was goading his friend.

Wilkins and Captain Andrew Bordon became fast friends, both men having the same passion for weaponry and mutual acquaintance with Edwards. Now Edwards was dead; killed at Camden. Still, even though Wilkins had seen plenty of good men die it was hard losing a good friend.

But it was his new _friend _that convinced him to join the Dragoons and even though Wilkins wanted nothing more than to wring his neck right at the moment, that same friend had pulled every string he could to help Wilkins through the process. Unwittingly, with Bordon's assistance, Wilkins sold his soul to the devil.

James Wilkins, Esq. was now Captain James Wilkins of the Green Dragoons. Under command of Colonel William Tavington; the devil himself.

It was obvious from their first introduction what Tavington thought of Loyalists and Colonials. Since that day he had treated Wilkins with the same consideration some might treat an indentured. He had no worth in Tavington's eyes and had to bite his tongue every time that bastard jumped his ass or called him a "stupid gillie." After all, Wilkins was just as much an Englishman as Tavington.

Now, here he was waiting to escort the devil's wife back to Fort Carolina, where she would reunite with her husband while his Rachel's body lay in the cold, hard ground.

It wasn't fair but life seldom was. It was just so hard for him to understand why he had to lose his wife when a man like Tavington was allowed his.

If he could go back somehow, change everything knowing what he knew now…

He had to stop dwelling on it. It wouldn't bring her back and it was a useless waste of time to wish for things that would never happen.

_If wishes were horses… _He reminded himself.

Wilkins would almost bet that this Lady Tavington- as he was told to address her _as if _he lacked in manners- was probably a shrew of a woman if she were married to a self absorbed prick like Tavington. Wilkins had no love for his commander and standing there in the stifling heat of the house that day, he made up his mind he didn't have to like the wife either. But he did have a duty to escort her and protect her at all cost. Those were his standing orders; that was his mission.

All of his resolve was blown away like dust in a windstorm the moment Lady Tavington came down the stairs in a fluster, apologizing profusely for keeping him waiting.

Lady Tavington was rather tall for a woman. Without the colonel being present to compare them side by side, Wilkins would guess this woman to be close to her husband's height. She was no wisp either, but rather statuesque with a full bosom, neat waist and long limbs. She had the blondest hair that shined like pale gold and with her bright blue eyes and striking features….yes, striking is the word he would use, she had an almost cool appearance. Wilkins wondered if there were Norsemen in her ancestry…

He was still dazzled just a bit when he noticed her thin blonde eyebrows knit together in a frown.

"Sir? Captain Wilkins, are you alright?" She asked with concern.

"Yes," he answered, regaining his wits. "Uh…excuse me ma'am, I'm sorry. If you're ready to leave…I'll just see to the horses…."

Wilkins gestured to the door and then stopped himself, turning to her to ask, "Lady Tavington the colonel sent a horse for you. He said you preferred to ride but it will take the better part of the day before we reach the fort. Are you certain you would not be more comfortable riding in one of the wagons or carts?"

"Oh, no please Captain, I cannot abide riding in a cart," she insisted. Then she chuckled nervously at her own embarrassment. "They make me sick, you see? However, I assure you, Captain, I am an accomplished rider. You needn't worry that I will slow you down."

She smiled rather arrogantly and awaited his rebuttal.

Wilkins couldn't think of one. So instead, he tersely suggested, "Alright then. I'll just wait outside, but if you have a parasol I suggest you carry it with you. The afternoon sun can be rather harsh."

"Thank you, Captain," he heard her say as he stepped out the door, desperate to get away from her and not having a clue as to why.

_How very rude! _Marybeth Tavington thought to herself as she watched this Captain Wilkins person walk away from her in a huff.

Of course his attitude towards her hadn't been any different from most others once they learned who her husband was. Marybeth knew William wasn't the easiest man to deal with. In fact, in the ten years since she had married the man he had never really done much to endear himself to her either. Nevertheless, it was still a bit disheartening to think everyone she met since coming to this God forsaken country judged her because of the colonel's reputation.

It was his reputation that brought her to America to begin with. He needed her now and although she didn't delude herself with ideas of happy reunions and romantic inclinations she prayed things would be different for them here.

Marybeth picked up the valise that Captain Wilkins left her to carry. She glanced around the foyer. There was no one around to see her off so with a heavy sigh, she stepped out the door into the sun and wilting heat. Captain Wilkins was at least considerate enough to assist her in gaining her mount and with that, Marybeth left Charles Town behind her, just as she had left New York and England before that.

Captain Wilkins did not speak much during their journey and Marybeth did not attempt to engage him in small talk. It was better that way she supposed. Her husband certainly would frown upon her fraternizing with his men. William had always been a bit possessive even though Marybeth never really understood why. He never seemed to want her but he could never really allow her to have any friends of her own. Unless of course, those friends were useful to him in some way. Children were of no use to William and even though he needed an heir he would not even allow Marybeth that concession.

Marybeth was beginning to notice the splendid chestnut she rode was starting to tire and was about to ask Captain Wilkins when they would stop for a break just as the supply train they were following came to a sudden halt.

Captain Wilkins sat higher in his saddle on alert, looking towards the front of the line with concern. In that pose and with the hard expression on his face, he seemed larger than ever…..and meaner.

"What is it?" She started to ask but Captain Wilkins cut her off with a quick gesture of his hand.

A shout went out and suddenly the line was being fired upon from the tree-line. Then she saw what she thought were a few Indians come screaming out of the woods.

Captain Wilkins held out his gloved hand to her as his moved his mount closer.

"Come here," he snapped.

Marybeth wasn't sure exactly what was taking place but something inside her told her to move and not waste anytime about it.

Just as Wilkins scooped her up and into his lap as another round of shots went off. The chestnut made an agonizing sound and reared before falling to the ground without it's rider. In a flash and with pistol in hand, Wilkins maneuvered his own mount off the road and drove them straight into the thick cover of the trees in an obvious attempt to get out of the line of fire.

"Keep your head down and hold on tight," Wilkins ordered.

Marybeth was terrified. She had never experienced such violence before. She shut her eyes tightly and hunkered down for the rough ride ahead.

Wilkins felt her trembling against him as she squeezed the life out of him with her arms and could not help but feel sorry for the poor woman he was trying to protect. No matter who she was married to, the gentleman in him hated to see a lady so frightened.

He rode as hard and fast as he could manage under the circumstances until he felt like they were out of danger. As soon as it was possible, he stopped to water and rests his horse.

Swinging down off his saddle, Wilkins half dragged, half assisted a shaking, nervous wreck of a woman to the ground. He held her elbows for a moment, steadying Lady Tavington until he thought she could stand on her own.

She was very pale and still shaking when she let go of his arm, but with a fearful voice she thanked him for his assistance and tried to regain her composure.

"The horse needs water. Stay here," he commanded. As Wilkins started to led lead his horse to a nearby stream, he heard her follow.

"Oh no!" He also heard her say. "You're not leaving me here all alone."

So, not wanting to start an argument, he let her come with him and watched her carefully as she washed the grit from her face and drank from her delicate looking hands in the most graceful way possible. Wilkins even stood guard while she relieved herself. Not once did he hear her complain, which surprised him.

Maybe she had a little more pluck than he had credited her with.

Marybeth was still quite upset when she finally spoke again to him.

"Captain, was it my imagination or were we just attacked by savages? I thought the natives were allies with the British…," she asked anxiously.

"Most of them are," he answered. "The Cherokee here in the south and the Shawnee in the north definitely are allied with the British."

"Then why did they attack?"

"The men who attacked us were rebels ma'am, not Cherokee."

The captain turned from her and began to make adjustments to his saddle and gear so they could both ride more comfortably.

"How could anyone tell in that chaos?"

"Well…in several ways. For one thing," he began to explain, "the native people do not all simply look alike, you know. Cherokee warriors have scalp locks or are completely plucked bald. It's a rite of passage. The ones that do have long hair don't wear them in queues like white men do and they certainly do not shout orders in English. Those men were rebels posing as Cherokee."

"But….they tried to shoot me!" Her voice was shaking again. She was getting emotional and that bothered her. If she was going to live here now, she would obviously have to suck it up.

"They weren't trying to shoot _you_. They were trying to shoot me-an officer. You just happened to be in the way. They believe doing so causes the troops to fall out and they would be correct. It gives them another element of surprise. As disciplined as British soldiers are, the Colonial rebels are not. They prefer to hide in the trees and ambush us because we are so many in number."

"You saved me instead of staying to fight. Thank you," she said most sincerely.

He glanced up from checking his pistol loads, lowering the hammers and dropping them back into the pistol buckets.

"I was under orders to protect you and return you to your husband. That is all," was his curt reply to her.

Captain Wilkins might as well have slapped her.

_His orders…_

She should have guessed.

As soon as he said it, Wilkins felt about as low as a snake's belly.

He watched her eyes well with tears and realized there was a possibility that he had misjudged this lady.

He attempted to smooth it over.

"What I meant was, you don't have to thank me," he tried a little more gently. "It's what I'm here for." He touched her arm in a gesture of comfort but Lady Tavington jerked away from him, shooting daggers with her eyes. She did not speak to him again.

_Then again maybe not._

Once they were ready, they hit the trail again, both eager to get to the safety of the fort. Both for the same reasons.

Neither one of them realizing just how wrong they were about the other.


	3. Chapter 2

_It's all right if you love me_  
><em>It's all right if you don't<em>  
><em>I'm not afraid of you running away<em>  
><em>Honey, I've got the feeling you won't- Breakdown, Tom Petty<em>

2.

In the four days since Colonel Tavington received his wife in the sitting room of the mansion that made up the main building at Fort Carolina, he had blatantly ignored her. And after hearing about the attack on the supply train Colonel Tavington had all but thrust the responsibility of Lady Tavington on Wilkins.

"I cannot think of another man more capable of looking after her while she's here, Wilkins," Colonel Tavington explained with his ultra superior tone.

Jim knew the truth behind the statement and _that_ truth was that Tavington hadn't learned that he could trust the captain yet. Wilkins was trying to prove himself. He knew he was a good soldier but Tavington was still convinced that a Loyalist man like Wilkins with rebel neighbors would eventually betray his duty to the Crown in favor of those neighbors. So in order to keep Wilkins out of the action, Tavington called him to heel, making Wilkins his guard dog.

Then one day, the colonel made a _very_ common yet stupid mistake that would seal all three of their fates.

The whole thing started innocently enough. Lady Tavington had lost all her possessions save what she was wearing when the supply train was attacked. It had been Wilkins assignment to escort the lady on the errand of attempting to replace what had been stolen from her. He waited patiently while she saw a dressmaker, surprised the visit was cut short after she settled on having a few more formal styled gowns made while purchasing two that had been part of a cancelled order for serviceable everyday wear.

Most women of Lady Tavington's rank that Wilkins knew personally would have taken all damn day and fussed over every little thing. But in just the few days that Jim began to know her, he had to admit, she wasn't as bad as he first assumed she would be. She was certainly easier to shop with than Rachel.

Lady Tavington seemed to be a woman who knew what she wanted which made the ordeal of replacing a wardrobe much easier and less time consuming for both of them. Wilkins could certainly appreciate that quality in a woman.

Before he knew it, they were on their way back to the fort and Wilkins found himself eternally grateful she hadn't made him hold her reticule.

When they returned, the main house seemed quiet and deserted. Both Lady Tavington and Wilkins went in search of occupants and found Colonel Tavington and a chamber maid in a very compromising position.

To be exact, the colonel was bound to the bed and gagged while the chamber maid was too busy riding astride, wearing her bedmate's uniform jacket and cracking his thighs with a crop to notice the intrusion.

Lady Tavington was totally mortified. Wilkins was flat out amused…. at first. That is until he saw the crushed look of astonishment on the lady's face and then Wilkins became very uncomfortable.

It had taken a few seconds for Lady Tavington to realize what she walked in on. As soon as it dawned on her what was going on, she pulled the door closed as quietly as she had opened it.

She was humiliated, that was a given. But she was angry too and hardly noticed Captain Wilkins following her down the hall until she realized she was going the wrong way and nearly collided with him. The look on her face reminded him of a cornered animal. She was tense, her face pinched hard, her clear blue eyes devastating.

"I should have known-" she said stopping herself short before she finished the thought. Then Wilkins noticed the hitch in her voice and the tears swimming in her eyes as she cast them towards the polished, wood floor.

"Am I ugly, Captain Wilkins?" He heard her ask with quiet misery.

"Um…no, ma'am," he answered honestly, almost contritely- although he had no idea why he felt a remorse for her. Wilkins was no fool. He was however, a widower. If he had learned anything about being married through the years, he learned how to answer questions such as this one posed by women such as his wife.

It occurred to him that the lady might need a hanky and he fumbled for the one in his pocket. She whispered her thanks as she dabbed at her eyes.

"Do you think me a simpleton?"

Wilkins shook his head. "No, ma'am."

She sighed heavily at that answer. "What is it then? What am I lacking that she possesses so much of that my husband would desire her over me? I do not understand it."

Wilkins didn't understand it either. Regardless of what he thought of her personally, Lady Tavington was a beautiful woman. She just didn't know it herself.

"And what _exactly_ was he doing with her?" She spat bitterly.

"No," she said suddenly changing her mind, waving her hand with a flutter. "Do not tell me even if you know."

He felt horrible for her and resisted the urge to touch her, take her in his arms and comfort her. Hell, he didn't even like her. At least that's what he tried to tell himself. He should leave her alone. Most likely she would be fine. Didn't _tonnish_ women expect things like that from their men?

Instead, he kept his opinions to himself, let her speak and found out more than he ever wanted to know about the Tavington's.

Colonel Tavington had married his wife for her money. Her father- a proud baronet with four daughters- married her off to the highest bidder so to speak, in order for his daughter to "live in the manner in which I was accustomed," she had explained.

In other words, a title was all her father required as the mark of a good husband. At least, that was how Lady Tavington described it. But their marriage, like so many others, was a farce. She had been bought and sold like the chattel her husband and father viewed her as. She loathed being his viscountess. A common story Wilkins thought as he listened. He knew what it was like marrying for love. He could never understand how anyone could do otherwise. He never felt sorry for any of them for entering into a sour arranged marriage- until now. Even his friend Bordon had done so recently. Wilkins remembered how hard it was adjusting to marriage, actually living with someone, learning their habits, good or bad. But the Tavington's never really lived as man and wife. Wilkins couldn't imagine the pain of being rejected by someone who never gave you a snow balls chance in hell of learning to like them- let alone love them.

"I've never understood William, really," she said finishing her story, clearing the emotion from her throat. "He brought me here to act the charming dutiful military wife, I know that. But you see, Captain, I've been separated from him during most of our marriage. I can deal with him well enough outside the bedroom but…Well, it was my hope that by being here with him…"

"Ma'am, I know you are upset and disappointed. It's been a long day. Perhaps you might consider a bath and a rest from this heat before supper."

Her eyes looked sharply at him. "Captain Wilkins, _perhaps_ you might consider that after four long years of being separated from me and finally being reunited, my husband is rogering that _whore_ on my bed. My room is thus occupied. I don't want a bath and I don't want a bloody nap- _especially_ not in _that_ bed. I _want _to get even."

"Then have your nap with me. That's sure to get him," he suggested calmly.

Wilkins did not know what made him say it. He had never propositioned a lover with such forwardness. He was more the type to dip his toe in the water first. He had only wanted to sooth her. Sometimes, he reckoned, a person just needed to feel wanted by someone. Maybe that was what driving his impulse to pull her close, kiss her, taste her, join with her over and over until she was weak from his loving. Wilkins had a need to feel wanted, a desire to touch and be touched. It had been so long since he really had a woman in that way.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

"It doesn't have to be complicated," he said, making his voice a caress while edging closer. "You need it, I need it. No one has to know. Lay with me. Let me pleasure you."

In watching Lady Tavington's reaction Wilkins was very surprised she hadn't slapped him. She did however appear rather stunned.

Just as Wilkins thought she was about to reject him, she blinked and finally spoke.

"Captain Wilkins, I appreciate-," she managed to say before he interrupted.

"James, if you please…or even simpler, Jim. Anything but Captain Wilkins."

"Jim?" She said in more of a plea than a question.

"Yes, Marybeth?"

"Would you please kiss me now?"

"Absolutely," he answered before dipping his head and settling his mouth to hers.

Wilkins did not touch her with anything other than his lips. Instead, he allowed her to come to him. The heat from her touch scorched a path through the layers of his clothing as she slid her hands up his arms, from his shoulder to his neck.

He felt her settle into the kiss and then she was kissing him back. _Really_ kissing him back. It was not a ravenous or in the least bit as naughty as one might expect. But it was passionate none the less. Her lips clung softly, warmly, longingly. She tasted of peaches.

One of them drew back, breaking the kiss, but Wilkins was not sure who.

Marybeth's eyes were clouded with dormant passion now awakened. It suddenly dawned on Jim part of this was new to her. Certainly she was no virgin. He doubted any couple could live together as long as the Tavington's had without some form of marital relations. But no one needed to tell him she had been neglected, that much was obvious. Wilkins understood now why Marybeth accepted his brash offer. If she ever knew of the pleasure that came from making love, she had forgotten it and chose him to remind her.

Silently, Wilkins led Marybeth by the hand through the house. Any rational thinking had long flown out the window. Where the hell was his room again? Down the hall, to the left, and down another hall, first door on the right. There it was. He opened the door, pulling her inside behind him and locked them in.

He kissed her again, holding her close, molding her to his body. She felt so alive and perfect. Wilkins left her standing alone in the middle of the room for a moment to make sure there were clean linens and water on the washstand, offering her the use of it. He removed his jacket and waistcoat, hanging them on the back of a chair and sat down to remove his boots.

Wilkins tried to pace himself as he worked the knot of his cravat. He didn't want to appear overly eager but truth be told, he was dying to begin. Dying to have her under him, over him, writhing in his arms. He watched in fascination as Marybeth undressed by herself, amazed that she did not ask for help. She came to him, standing before him in only her shift.

Wilkins' only moment of clear thought had been just as he was about to remove his breeches. He had almost put an end to it and sent Lady Tavington on her way. But at the time, he had wanted her with a passion he hadn't felt for a woman in a coon's age and if it meant cuckolding his commanding officer, so be it.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer until she had no choice but to sit in his lap. He kissed her pink rosebud mouth and inhaled her peach blossom, honeyed scent.

His hand slipped up under the hem of her shift, cruising over the swell of her calve. Marybeth responded by resting her head against his shoulder and sighing with pleasure.

"Any second thoughts, my lady?" He asked, giving her knee a short squeeze.

He felt the shake of her head and smiled to himself.

_She wants this…. She wants me._

Wilkins drew her shift over her head and pulled her down with him on the bed. Settling her over him, he let his hands drift over her nakedness in light caresses, stopping in certain places to explore further with feathery touches or gentle squeezes. The feel of her breast crushed against him made his heart pound in his ears. Jim felt her heat, her taste, her femininity absorbed by his body as he kissed her with an openmouthed passion that was blatantly sexual.

He pushed his knees up through her legs and let her thighs fall to the sides of his hips. She ground against him without a clue in her pretty head what she was doing to him. She was wet and willing and God help him, she wanted him _now_.

He kneaded her bottom and pulling her open further Jim shifted his hips and stabbed into her heat. She lifted her mouth away with a gasp and Jim clentched to keep from coming just then as she sat up, sinking herself down to the hilt. He groaned-loudly.

"Ohhhh! Marybeth cried out vocalizing something that sounded like a sobbing laugh. Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

Marybeth nodded frantically. "Uh huh."

"Too much?"

Wilkins hid a wince as she tentatively gripped his forearms for leverage, lifting slightly and bringing herself back down.

"Ohhhhh…no…perfect," she whimpered desperately.

He fought hard to restrain himself, wanting her to discover her own pleasure. He knew he would have his soon enough. She was so tight and warm all he wanted to do was pound into her. But he also knew that if he were patient and waited for her to catch up he would be rewarded in the end and would be left thinking about her for days after.

Wilkins ran his hands over her body while she took a minute to decide what she should do next. He couldn't miss the countenance of curiosity on Marybeth's face as she appraised her situation.

He let his knuckles brush the creamy underside of her breasts and brought them down her ribs to her waist. Her hands met his there, her fingers laced with his and he braced her. She looked so beautiful above him in the afternoon light of the room, blonde strands curling around her sex flushed face.

Freya on her golden chariot wouldn't have looked as lovely compared to this lover's golden beauty. When he rocked his hips Marybeth moaned, slowly rolling her sky-colored eyes heavenward and began to ride him.

Wilkins was burning up from his desire for her. With his feet now planted firmly on the floor, he brought their hands up and rested his arms on his abdomen, locking them against her weight and bounced her.

"_Jim!" _she cried again.

"Ssshhhh….Let it come. Show me how you ride like a pretty lady."

Marybeth caught his rhythm and ground her hips down every time Jim thrust upwards. He bit his bottom lips until he thought it might bleed and hissed between his teeth.

Her moans turned to wails as she began to reach her climax. Jim had to think fast. He reached up with one hand and brought her mouth down hard to his lips, stifling her cries while she pulsed around him.

He soon felt his own release not far behind and barely managed to pull himself out of the warmth of her sheath just when he wanted to stay inside her the most.

Marybeth lay collapsed on Jims chest gasping for air and Jim lay spent and sweating and panting beneath her.

When they finally recovered, Jim lifted her higher onto the pillows, leaving her to bring a damp cloth and laid beside her, wiping the dewy sheen of persperation from her face and neck. With her hair falling from it's pins in a erotic mess and her skin turning blotchy as it cooled, she smiled at him, looking rather debauched and sated.

"Better?"

"Much," she replied, yawning.

"Good. Now rest."

While Marybeth snuggled down under the coolness of the sheets to doze for a bit, Jim propped himself against the headboard. He picked up his journal, jotted down field notes and sketched for awhile.

Glancing down at Marybeth's sleeping form he wondered what the hell he had just done.

* * *

><p>AN I know I hit kinda hard and fast with this one people but you'll understand why very soon!

I don't normally do song fics or anything like that either but Breakdown by Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers was sort of my inspiration for the feel of this chapter. If you're familiar with the song, I hope you picked up the vibe.


	4. Chapter 3

I know this is a little short for my normal updates but bear with me...it's comming together, people. I've been assured by those in the know, this story is going to blow your mind.

All in good time my pretties...all in good time...

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><p>3.<p>

With in just a few weeks of her arrival, Lady Tavington began pleading with her husband to take her to the British camp where he spent a great deal of time.

"My darling the camp is no place for you, you are much safer here," he responded dismissing the request.

"William, please, I'd rather be with you. I don't like it here….."

"Is it Captain Wilkins? Has he done something?" William asked with narrowing eyes..

The truth was, Marybeth's desire to leave the fort was more to do with General O'Hara's attentions rather than Jim's. The general was making quite the pest of himself and on several occasions she felt cornered by him. It made her skin crawl. But she couldn't exactly tell her husband that.

"No William, Captain Wilkins has treated me very well," _In more ways than you know in fact. _"But I would rather stay closer to you. I promise I won't complain….not once."

William's change in expression from irritation to concern was all she needed to see to know she was wearing him down so quickly. She went for the kill.

She stepped closer to him and gave him the most solemn looking eyes she could muster, touching his arm. "Please, my lord."

And with that, Colonel Tavington packed her up and moved her to camp.

Marybeth knew it would cost her of course. He would expect something in return as he always did. Whether it was sex or a favor of some other kind, she would pay.

During that first night together, he made that favor known. It wasn't quite as bad as she thought though.

All he wanted in return for his "time and trouble" was a hot bath and his wife to wash his hair.

Easy enough.

Marybeth made herself comfortable on the ground- cloth floor of their tent and began to scrub Williams scalp with soapy finger nails. He groaned-loudly and she chuckled.

She reached for the soap, unintentionally allowing her breast to brush against his arm, realizing her mistake when she felt the hot water soak her shift.

William stopped her hand with his tight grip. "Easy, darling, you're killing me."

"I've never denied you William," she replied softly, feeling the hot creep of a blush on her face.

"You have never given yourself over to me either, now have you," he answered rather peevishly.

Did he really have to fight with her now?

Marybeth stood her ground when she replied in the same patronizing tone he often used with her, "Perhaps I would If I did not have to stand in line to do so. The chamber maid, William," she tisked her fingers at him, shooting him a disapproving look. "….really."

_You slap me, I'll slap you harder..._

Something flashed in Williams eyes. A touch of resentment? Regret? Shame?

But to that he said nothing while Marybeth quietly rinsed her husband's hair and then combed it out. Her own resentment towards him boiling with the ruination of what had been a pleasant moment. Then again that's how it always went. He would cheat without even bothering to be discreet, she would confront and he would ignore it while she stewed with disappointment.

Once she was finished with her chore, she changed her wet shift, climbed into bed, weary and maybe feeling just a bit sorry for herself.

William made love to her that night. At least that is to say he bedded her. Because when it came down to it, she could never really quite define what he did with her as making love. His version of connubial bliss consisted of him finding his own release without a care for hers while she turned her face away and waited for him to finish manhandling her.

Only this time, she thought of someone else.

Marybeth wondered what William would have to say if he knew who she was thinking of and for a brief second she felt guilty for being unfaithful. She also felt a little whorish for thinking of another man while her husband used her body. But it was the only way she knew how to cope.

She let her mind drift to an interlude just days before when Jim had snuck her out of the fort alone. They found a sunny spot in the tall grass where no one would see what they were doing. And she finally had the opportunity to explore him as she had wished for since the day he saved her life.

_He laid down next to her, their clothes already scattered about. When she hesitated towards him, he stopped and leaned back on his elbows, inviting her to touch at her leisure. Their private, more intimate moments were always so rushed and now she had a chance to take a good long look at her lover if she wanted to. _

_She savored it. _

_Running her hands over his paps, Marybeth never would have guessed that chest hair could be so appealing. His grew in soft dark whorls over smooth sun-browned skin. Scanning her eyes over him, she took note of his scars, how large his feet were compared to hers, his long legs, the toned muscles of his arms- which as she had seen by now, could be so ruthless and yet still so loving when he held her. _

_Her mouth discovered the places that made him shiver…made him flinch…made him growl. It made her smile._

_He gasped and fell back on the grass when she touched him 'there'. His breathing became ragged and his skin flushed while hers prickled with the excitement, knowing what it was all leading to…fascinated with the charge of sexuality that flared between them._

_And then somehow, the next thing she knew, he was kissing her….and kissing her…and kissing her….His long fingers grasped her hair so tightly it hurt…..and felt good at the same time._

_And then he was over her and in her and all around her as he claimed and possessed her. She closed her eyes and heard him say how beautiful she was- how sweet she tasted. But all she could think about was how heavenly the warm drag and pull of his thrusts felt, the delicious weight of his body…his warm breath washing over her….his scent, earthy and clean…. how magnificent he was…._

_She heard him beg her to open her eyes. He had called her "Sugar." When she tore them open, she was laughing and crying at the same time and all she could see were stars bursting forth with her climax as she sobbed his name over and over and over._

Long after her husband turned away from her, snoring softly in his sleep, Marybeth lay awake, thinking…..

If she had thought William cared one wit for her, then she could at least try and enjoy him as she did Jim. Marybeth never held the belief that William was a bad man. He was just a man. He couldn't change who he was anymore than she could force him to love her. Marybeth had accepted that years ago. Him pretending that he loved her would never do. But sometimes she wished he would be more tender with her- like Jim. Or if they could only go back to the early days of their marriage.

There had been a time when his smiles were genuine and she had no need to concern herself with the strings attached to his affections. Back then he had at least tried to be charming. Of course that was before she discovered the first in a long line of other women and his charms wore off.

His reputation aside, Marybeth knew her husband to be an exceptional officer and leader who believed in total war. He was hard on his men but regardless of what they thought of their commander, they obeyed him, giving him the respect which his rank demanded. He was handsome and intelligent even though he could be a bit introverted in most social settings. That was where she always balanced him with her grace and charm. If William said something that others might misunderstand, he would turn to her to smooth things over with a jest or witty quip. She didn't mind, although it meant sometimes she had to bite her tongue, quietly hiding her own intelligence. To the outside world, they were the perfect couple.

She had to admit that she did enjoy _some_ of the time they spent together. When they were alone he wasn't so bad. Their love of horses was something they always shared and William made an excellent and challenging riding companion. He even allowed her to accompany him on hunting parties…. in the early days.

At those times at least she had his attention. If he were not so cold and manipulative towards her, she might have even found other things to admire about him.

Those facts made the entire situation very confusing for Marybeth. She was coming to care for Jim. Never the less, after all William had put her through, Marybeth would always hold a hope that someday the lying, cheating son of a bitch would cease all of his wicked ways and simply love her.

The only quality Jim and William had in common was that they were both loyal to King and Country- which was England. William for some reason, never took a liking to Jim. Nor did he try and hide the fact that he did not trust Jim-which Marybeth found rather ironic, all things considered.

Although dedicated to his duty, William's impulsiveness sometimes still caused problems with his superiors. He had been under command of General Clinton when he first arrived in Charles Town. Now he was under Cornwallis. Marybeth heard through the proverbial grapevine that Clinton and Cornwallis had differences in opinions. Because William had once been favorited by Clinton and Colonel Tarleton was Lord General Cornwallis' new bright star, William didn't stand a chance. The problem was getting her husband to recognize that fact.

She was still somewhat angry that he had forced her here. The camps as well as the fort were certainly no place for a lady- William was right about that. However, if she hadn't come to the American Colonies she would have never met Jim. And no matter how limited their time was together, Marybeth knew in her soul that she would always cherish it. She knew that someday-possibly sooner rather than later- she would have to give Jim up. It was killing her to know that all she would have left to keep him close to her heart were memories. She would never be Jim's wife, she would never be the mother of his children. She would always belong to William. For worse or worse.

For a moment she grew terribly restless and tossed a few times before settling. She felt the hot tears slip down her face, wetting her pillow and drifted off to sleep, shaming herself for being so pitiful.


	5. Chapter 4

_I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier_

_I know that the clubs are weapons of war_

_I know that diamonds mean money for this art_

_But that's not the shape of my heart ~ The Shape of My Heart, Sting_

4.

Jim Wilkins lay staring up at the ceiling of of his bedroom. The small clock on the mantle ticked away the hours until dawn.

_Well hellfire_, he thought, it wasn't even his bedroom as much as it felt like it. It was more of a borrowed bedroom in his sister Em's house. The more Wilkins thought about it the more he realized how right he was about it being Em's house. Emily was a true mistress of her own household. Or at least that is to say she ruled it as much as a woman possibly could.

Jim chuckled silently to himself as he thought of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Hutchins.

It wasn't that Robert Hutchins was in anyway less of a man who couldn't handle his wife. Robert was a fine man, excellent with business when it came to his farm. It was more that Jim had a very strong willed sister, who knew her own mind about things most women would never concern themselves with. Fortunately for Em, Robert Hutchins had been her perfect match. He had always shown himself to be a true Southern gentleman as far as Wilkins was concerned and had no issue with doing whatever it took to provide for Em and the children. In fact, Jim had no doubt that if his devoted wife would have allowed him, Robert- or Rob as his family called him- would have fought side by side with Jim. Not so much because Rob was politically a Loyalist but more because of his loyalty to his family- including Jim. Rob Hutchins had no opinion of the war but he did have an opinion about Jim and the Wilkins children. An opinion that now had Jim very worried.

His kids were no longer bearing the strain of their father's absence with their usual resilience. Earlier that evening, Rob informed his brother-in-law that the eldest, Mark had been heard talking of running off to join the British Army himself. Luckily, it was Billy Fuller who had overheard and ratted Mark out to his aunt. When confronted by Em, Mark confessed that he knew he was bigger than most boys of twelve and had intended on lying about his age since he was nearly thirteen.

In a sense Wilkins felt a certain pride in his son's determination. But at the same time it made him sick to think of what would become of Mark if he carried out his intentions. He knew all to well what the British army could do to a boy so young. He had seen it for himself.

Jamey and Callie seemed to be thriving under the care of their aunt and uncle. A little too much it seemed considering a brawl of sorts started between the two Wilkins children and Rob and Em's daughter, Molly. The knock-down-drag-out began when Molly became incensed over Callie's accidental reference to her Aunt Em as "Momma." Jamey had received a black eye as his reward for attempting to break up the little kitten fight.

"Now don't get me wrong, Jim," his brother-in-law said with genuine concern. "Em and I aren't saying you have to get them out of here. We're saying that after four years of fighting, maybe it's time you come home."

Come home.

He had no home to come home to. This was his sister's home. Although she had done everything in her power to make Jim and the kids feel as though it was theirs. He had almost forgotten that it wasn't his home and it only made him feel more guilty for having to leave in the morning again. A few days was all he could ever seem to spare for his children these days.

Even in the Loyalist Militia he was forced to depend on the good will of his commanders for leave. In the military he was able to grieve by himself for awhile, knowing his kids were being cared for, loved and kept safe. He had never thought about their grief or the fact that they still needed the stability only their surviving parent could provide.

Had he been so selfish that he had neglected their needs? Perhaps he had, but what to do about it now?

Wilkins would have to sell his commission- if he could. Even though a commission with the Dragoons would be a sweet deal for any worthy soldier, Wilkins had worked so hard at what he had accomplished up til now. Then what? Could he rebuild his law practice in the middle of a war? And where would he go? He couldn't continue imposing on Rob and Em. Nor would he return to Pembroke if his life depended on it.

The truly frustrating part of Wilkins' little quandary was that he was finally starting to enjoy his time with The Green Dragoons. Enjoy might have been a little too strong of a description but he could not deny the sense of satisfaction he had when doing his duty for King and Country.

The missions they were taking were becoming more and more interesting- and dangerous. The strategic planning and anticipation of battle was something he could do without. Nonetheless, capturing small groups of Colonial Militia that terrorized Loyalist families and ambushed British Troops while stealing thousands of pounds worth supplies seemed like justice. The rebels were starting to hurt where it counted and it made Jim feel better when he was able to hurt them back.

Knowing the area as he did, Wilkins was often looked to as a source of local information by his commanders. Even Bordon consulted with him over manner of Southern customs and culture in dealing with South Carolinians across the countryside. Bordon was also becoming a good friend to Jim and the two often relied on each other in a more fraternal way.

One evening while Wilkins was playing cards, Bordon stalked quietly into the tent, his fingers tying the ends of his queue and stood near the corner intently watching the players.

Jim couldn't help but notice Bordon's jacket was missing. That was odd because Bordon was always so tidy. The man had such a need for order and cleanliness it bordered on obsessive. Now here he was without waistcoat or cravat and Wilkins couldn't reckon he'd ever seen Bordon look so upset.

Something was afoot.

Bordon caught his gaze and tilted his chin towards the flap just as Wilkins was about to pick up his card.

_Outside._

Something was definitely afoot. Another rebel attack? Colonel Tavington would be on the war path.

His curiosity pricked now, Wilkins checked his cards again and folded. He stood, collected his remaining blunt and followed Bordon.

No sooner were they outside than Captain Bordon turned to Jim and blew his top. Bordon tried to keep his voice low but was so animated he was actually drawing more attention to himself from passers-by's than he realized. It was a rare sight to see the captain in such form and it took a quite few scowls at the lookie-lou's by Jim to keep them stepping instead of gawking.

"I swear to God, Wilkins, I'm going to strangle that woman before this is all over…..You would not believe what that little shrew just did!"

The angrier Bordon got the thicker his British became until Jim eventually stopped listening and let the captain ramble, only to catch an expletive here and there.

Wilkins knew immediately which shrew his friend was referring to. His wife. Mrs. Bordon, formerly Mrs. Edwards as she had first been married to Jim's deceased friend Captain Ramsey Edwards.

Bordon married Teddy after her husband was killed in battle for her own protection and the two were not exactly hitting it off. It was a common scene in the camps. Many camp followers were forced to quickly re-marry another soldier or leave the only home many of them had ever known after their husbands died from sickness or battle.

It was a tough adjustment for some- especially women like Mrs. Bordon. The most hardheaded, stubborn Yankee woman a man ever did see. And never a more dedicated officer's wife. Wilkins admired Mrs. Bordon. Bordon knew that. Bordon also knew Wilkins had once been married himself and sometimes sought Jim's advice in dealing with his new wife although often times Wilkins doubted that Bordon ever took it.

"Bordon, snap out of it! You're digressing, man," Wilkins finally interrupted right about the time Bordon started in about bath water.

Bordon raised an eyebrow but couldn't seem to sputter a coherent response and gave up with a shrug.

Wilkins pulled a small silver flask of moonshine from his waistcoat pocket and offered Bordon a nip- which he gratefully took.

"You need to think about this calm and rational-like," Jim said, taking a nip for himself and then slipping it back in it's pocket.

"Calm and rational-like," Bordon repeated with a heavy sigh.

"Yes," Jim confirmed. "And for cryin' out loud, man, hurry up and bed the chit. Everyone knows why you married her and there's been some pretty vulgar talk. I've also been meaning to say that I hope you realize under British law, the only chance you have of your annulment is to prove yourself impotent. And unless you're a sodomite, I don't see that happening anytime soon. So, you'd best just get it over with now."

Bordon's face was ghostly white, his lips pressed into a thin line as he clenched his jaw.

Yes, Bordon definitely needed to get laid.

"Go home, Bordon. Tumble your wife….shag her senseless and see what happens in the morning. Show her who's the papa. I know that's what I would do."

Bordon's jaw dropped just as Wilkins decided he had given the captain enough advice for the night and turned to leave. He was tired and if he couldn't have Marybeth right then, he wanted his bed instead.

"You call that calm and rational?" Bordon shouted after him.

As he walked away from his astonished friend, he called out over his shoulder, "She's a good girl, Bordy. Prettier than two pies in a basket, if you ask me. She treated Edwards like a king. Imagine what you could do with a woman like that."

The following day, it became apparent that Bordon had indeed decided to take Jim's advice. Wilkins couldn't be certain of what had transpired between Bordon and his wife, but that morning Mrs. Bordon came out to see her husband off. To everyone's surprise, Bordon kissed her good-bye from his horse.

The little lady just beamed and waved, calling after him as the Dragoons rode away.

Wilkins couldn't resist jabbing Bordon a bit and teased by imitating Mrs. Bordon's awkward farewell. A very young lieutenant- a mere boy no more than eighteen- sniggered and made the mistake of asking, "What is your lovely wife's name, Captain Bordon?"

Bordon hardened his eyes at the poor kid- who instantly shrunk away from the captains steely glare- and rumbled, "Her name is _Mine _and that is all _you_ need to know."

Wilkins was not surprised to hear Bordon stake his claim so publicly, because that too was exactly how Jim would have handled it himself.

No one said another word. Not even Colonel Tavington who was usually ordering them to cut the chatter and ride.

It wasn't any easier for Wilkins to avoid thinking about Marybeth in all this mess. She simply was one more reason he should leave the army.

While they were in the camp, where he went, she followed, unless she was busy with the other officer's wives. While they were at the fort where she went, he followed as her personal guard and escort- unless she was actually being attended to by her husband.

If they weren't more careful, people would soon begin to talk.

As a soldier he had learned early on to always be very aware of his surroundings. He had to look out for her now as well as himself and had become accustomed to her constant presence. Out on patrol or on his own, he felt her absence greatly. He also found himself fantasizing about being able to introduce her to his family and children. He knew he could not.

Jim missed her and that concerned him. Their affair was complicating his life and he wasn't certain how to handle it at that moment. She could never be his; she would always be married to someone else. That was his only regret but it was a very practical one.

Marybeth and Jim had no future regardless of how they felt for each other. Wilkins couldn't afford the luxury of allowing himself to fall in love with her and neither could she.

But they were.

Wilkins could feel it. He knew what it was like, could recognize the symptoms and this time it felt like an invisible hand was reaching into his chest and squeezing the blood from his heart.

The fact that he had left her unhappy the last time they saw each other seemed to bother him even more.

It hadn't been intentional but it was also a catalyst for this recent epiphany of his that he and Lady Tavington would have to end their affair sooner rather than later.

Before the Dragoons rode out of camp, Wilkins had managed a stolen hour alone with Marybeth. She had confided with him that her courses had come, which was a relief to both of them. He knew she was still sleeping with her husband. If Tavington was really using her to impress the higher-up-muckity-mucks, he would also make sure everyone knew he was bedding his wife- chambermaids and doxies aside.

However, it had humiliated Marybeth to admit it to Jim. She felt guiltier over hurting him than she had felt repulsed by the bad sex. She had tolerated her husbands demands and Wilkins couldn't begrudge her for it. It was her marital duty to perform in bed. And although he felt sorry for her, there was nothing he could do but comfort her and take a little comfort from her.

Tenderness and affection was something they both craved. So, it was just as easy to spend their precious minutes of privacy under the shade of a tree, a curtain of Spanish moss veiling them from the rest of the world, in each others arms, kissing. In other words, her courses also meant it was going to be a very long patrol.

"We should really be more cautious from now on. I'll get a French letter from the apothecary. I won't get a bastard on you, Marybeth. You needn't worry about that in a time like this," he told her with the up-most sincerity.

A faint smile played across her face. "I wouldn't mind a baby so much, war or no war, no matter who it's father is."

"I would never allow your husband to raise my child regardless," Jim retorted midly.

"Yet you leave your wife to raise your children while you're here with me, knowing full well what you're risking?"

Jim hadn't been looking to argue but his wife was never a subject he wished to discuss- let alone with his lover.

If she could be blunt, so could he.

"My wife is dead and you would do best to leave her out of this. I wouldn't even be here with you if she were still with me."

His words found their mark. Now he was the one feeling guilty.

No, he shouldn't have left her like that.

Wilkins thoughts were interrupted with the squeak of his bedroom door. He turned his head on the pillow and noticed a small form lingering in the doorway.

"Jesse?"

"I'm wet," Jim's youngest boy whimpered.

"Come here, Jesse."

The little boy padded quietly to his father. Jim sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the bed. He pulled Jesse's night shirt over his head and threw the wet garment aside.

"Now you're not wet," he told his boy gently.

Out of all of his children, Jesse was had the most sensitive feelings. Jim realized just then as he swaddled his little boy in his old banyan that part of those circumstances were his fault too. It closed around him like a pall along with the cool, dampness of the October night air.

Jim tucked Jesse in close to his side, listening to the even sounds of his son's breathing as the boy drifted off.

The clock on the mantle ticked on.


	6. Chapter 5

5.

Lady Tavington's stomach rolled as the carriage she traveled in swayed and bounced down the well-worn dirt road. Anyone else might not have noticed so much being that it was a very fine carriage. Nonetheless, Marybeth hated riding in carriages and wagons more than anything. They always made her feel ill and sometimes the anxiety she felt in anticipation of an up-coming journey made the situation even worse. Marybeth would almost bet that every time the coach lurched or rocked, her face turned a smidge greener.

Her husband sat next to her quietly. He knew full well how riding in enclosed vehicles affected his wife. What Marybeth did not understand was why William insisted on taking a carriage in the first place.

Almost as if he had been listening to her thoughts, William answered that question.

"My dear," he began with a rare sympathetic smile, "I know how much you loath a carriage but I wanted a few minutes of privacy to discuss some things of importance. Once we arrive at Middleton Place, I am certain we will have little of either."

The smile meant he wanted something, that much was certain. But something about his tone made him seem nervous. Perhaps he was afraid to give her some bad news. Or perhaps he was afraid she might get sick on his new boots as she had once before. Just thinking about that horrible trip to London so long ago made Marybeth's mouth fill with water as she flushed with heated nausea. She turned her face to the open window and took a deep breath, inhaling the cool air. Concentrating on the passing scenery, she fought the urge to vomit. She felt him lift her hand in his and pat it. Even through the layers of their gloves she felt some warmth from his touch. It felt like the comforting gesture of a friend...a companion. If only that were so.

"What is it, my lord?" She groaned miserably.

She heard him sigh and say, "We need an heir."

Marybeth's motion sickness was momentarily forgotten as her head snapped around to face him. She would not have been more stunned had William hit her over the head with a mallet and almost expected to find one in his hand. She also half hoped to find his usual mocking expression as if this were some sort of prank he was playing. But instead, she found he still looked a bit anxious and maybe a just bit hopeful himself.

"_We_ need an heir? It's _we,_ is it? I'm sorry, my lord, I've just never quite gotten around to the idea that there has ever been a _we_...or an _us_ for that matter. Our marriage has always been more of a _you_ type of arrangement, has it not?" She replied a little too tartly.

He blinked. "You're not going to make this easy are you?"

"If you want a child, the law says you do not require my permission, William," she answered, her mind registering with approval a more evenness of tone. This was a topic they had discussed many times that never seemed to come to final fruition. She would do well, she thought, to find out exactly what he had in mind before she upped the ante and ended up splashing the pot.

"True. And after you give me one, the law also says I can set you aside if I wish. But I do not wish for that. I would prefer this to be a joint effort," he admitted.

There was a pregnant pause as Marybeth allowed her gaze to travel once again to the scenery. She was actually rendered speechless for at least a full two minutes. A child would at least help fill the lonely void of a loveless marriage. She might even be able to protect her child to some degree from it's father's reputation of scandalous infidelity. Children learned what they lived and for all his strengths, William always treated women as though they were interchangeable play things. Marybeth could give their children everything they could possibly need for a bright future. She would strive to be a good and loving mother. But she would be damned if she allowed them to become like him.

She finally broke the silence when she turned back to him and said, "At our age, I should have had a whole tribe of children clinging to my skirts by now, yet you've always managed to dodge that bullet. What makes you so amenable to the idea after all this time?"

"Mortality?" He speculated with an edge of disdain. "If I should die, that blithering idiot that calls himself my cousin will inherit the title and estate. I cannot tolerate the thought. After everything _we..._yes, we, darling, have done to rebuild it. I have not forgotten the generous dowry I received from your father when we married. I could not have done it without you. If we have a son, it would secure the family line. It would secure your future as well. You do want children, don't you?"

"You know I do. You also know I want them very badly. However, I can't help but feel like a pawn in some game you're playing."

"Let me reassure you, darling, there is no game. Only survival," William said in an oddly gentle voice, looking her straight in the eye. His bright blue eyes with their sooty lashes were always a dead giveaway for his level of sincerity and always much easier to read when he was in such rare form. This was the perfect opportunity to ask for whatever she wanted. An idea for her counter-offer began to form inside her head.

"I wanted this to be a decision we make together rather than forcing it upon you as everything else-including our marriage- has been forced upon you," he continued almost contritely. "I thought it might make it easier for you to accept. There has been enough animosity between us through the years. I'm seven and thirty. I'm tired, damn it. I need an heir. When this is over I want something to come home to besides an estate and a wife that despises me."

"I don't despise you, William. I just...don't understand you at times," she said with a slight shake of her head. "You've accomplished everything you've ever set out to do. You've rebuilt your family fortune and then you go off to the military to restore your family name. Yet at the same time you shame me and the name Tavington further by sleeping with anything in a skirt."

Marybeth waited for a response, expecting his usual snarkiness. When she received neither, she continued laying her cards on the table. "I'll do this _with_ you on one condition and one condition only. A condition that I have no legal right to ask….but I am insisting upon so that I might know how serious you are."

Her husband gave a slight nod. "Go on."

"You remain faithful to me while we are trying to conceive this child and any other children that follow. I will not have people gossiping any longer. As an incentive," she added hesitantly, "I can promise you a more entertaining bed partner."

William's dark brows darted up over his eyes as they widened with surprised amusement. "And who pray tell, might that be?" He asked, snorting a cynical laugh.

With a lift of her chin, Marybeth merely kept her composure, refusing to be mocked. "Me... Just imagine, William, no more cold shoulder. I'll come to you willingly. But you must promise...no more affairs, no more camp followers or chambermaids. Only... me. I get what I want, you get what you want. Win. Win. Simple as that."

If she had to give up the man she wanted in favor of the one she was stuck with in order to have the baby she longed for, it was the least he could do.

William looked past her shoulder, out the window, considering her offer. If he refused to accept it, she would of course try to conceive regardless. However, she would rather bring a child into the world with some affection from all parties involved rather than out of duty to her husband and family.

He lifted her hand, pulling off her glove, to press his lips to her fingers. "Done," he said with certain finality as if it had been the easiest deal of his life.

Funny how men could be that way, Marybeth thought.

Scooting a little closer to her side, William draped an arm around Marybeth's shoulders. The corner of his eyes crinkled with delight as he smiled wickedly. "About this new bed partner...you could at least allow me a taste of what's to come."

Her husband nuzzled the tip of his nose against her cheek, tickling her. Marybeth tried to scold him, making a futile attempt to push him away but shocked herself by giggling like an idiot instead, "William, not here. Tonight, after the ball."

"Just a kiss...unless that is, you've forgotten how to kiss," he challenged.

Marybeth turned her face to him and let her lips settle on his. She relaxed, drawing him into her kiss, tempting him, teasing him her tongue, doing her best to make him want more of her. She waited to hear him draw in a slow breath before she broke the kiss. And as he let it out just as slowly, she continued to place seductive little pecks at the corner of his mouth and jaw.

William stared at her for a moment, bewhildermentt written clearly on his face.

"Damn!" He said with a rather startled chuckle. "Perhaps _I've_ forgotten how to kiss."

Marybeth had no misgivings that she would have to work hard to seduce her own husband. All William seemed to require was that she was more willing to take an active role in the bedding, which she felt she had just proven with her kiss. However, the time had come to break off her affair and she now dreaded explaining the situation to Captain Wilkins.

Finding the opportunity to do so was easier said than done. Although her husband was constantly being pulled from her side the entire evening, Lady Tavington was rarely left alone. She thought perhaps she might catch Jim after supper. Or maybe take a turn with him on the great expanse of the lawn where other guest strolled leisurely, admiring the view. He almost seemed to be avoiding her and she couldn't help but wonder if somehow he knew her intentions.

Her answer to that would come later, but not on this night.

After a supply ship was destroyed that evening right before their very eyes sending everyone other than civilians into total chaos. The ship had been docked on the Ashley River just a few hundred yards away from the rice patties that were a part of the Middleton Plantation. Apparently there had been some sort of accident with gun powder and explosives. At least that was the explanation William gave her just after he tossed back his cocktail and slammed the crystal glass down so hard on the table it shattered. The dark expression on his face as he turned to angrily storm away said he believed otherwise.

She never saw Jim again that evening and instead of searching him out any further, she decided a hot bath and a bed would better suit her nerves. It was not as if she were truly choosing one man over the other- there was no choice to be made. The way she saw it, she had no choice. Her husband wanted an heir. Marybeth wanted a baby-any baby. So maybe she had been selfish. It was not her wish to hurt Jim. But hadn't even he admitted it would not do to pass his child off as another man's baby? She could only pray that Jim would understand when she explained everything to him later- that he wouldn't hate her.

Marybeth wasn't exactly sure if she should wait up for William or not- due to the evening's events. For all she knew he might have very well taken a patrol out. Then it would be days before she saw him again. Or what if he came to her in a foul mood? Would he be too rough with her or treat her cruelly?

She couldn't let herself worry over it now, she decided. Instead, Marybeth finished dressing for bed, intending to get some rest. If he came to her, he would no doubt wake her. Knowing her husband as she did- how exhausting he could be, mentally as well as physically- she would need it.

She drifted for a while it seemed. Somewhere between dreams and reality, where she saw images in her mind that synched with the sounds of the environment she slept in. The ticking of a clock, the sound of logs shifting as they burnt down in the fire place….the soft click of the door. He was back and Marybeth couldn't miss the immediate charge she felt with his presence. She listened keenly as he began to undress. She suddenly felt as nervous as she had on her wedding night. How should she initiate this? Should she initiate it at all or feign sleep in hopes he would not touch her? _NO._ Her eyes snapped open at the thud of his boots hitting the floor. She wanted this time to be different even if only for her sake.

Marybeth sat up in bed just as William finished kicking off his breeches. He smiled, seeing that she was awake. She saw him stark naked and sleepily, did the same. Not smiling at the way he looked at that exact moment she decided, was simply impossible. Marybeth had a new appreciation for the male form now and even she had to admit, her husband was a very fine specimen. William was lean, hard- though not overly ripped with muscle- and Marybeth would damn near bet her husband had the finest backside his His Majesty's entire army.

William knelt on the bed, smiling mischeiviously, crawling, panther-like, towards her, eyes locked on hers, until he was a mere inch from her face. He stole a swift kiss then drew back to gage her reaction. She _had_ promised him an entertaining bed partner. Marybeth reached up tentatively to touch his face at the same instant, he moved to press his cheek more firmly into her palm. It became apparent to Marybeth that William wanted her to take the lead. She desperately wanted to put her arms around him and pull him down to the bed with her. She wanted to kiss him like a lover rather than a husband. So, she did.

In the wee hours of the morning when their sexual hungers had been satisfied, William-rather than turn his back to her as he normally did- lay with his head pillowed on his wife's breasts. Marybeth stroked the long, fine, silky locks of dark hair, raking them out so they fanned out over her arm. Hopefully, the makings of a baby had already gotten a good start.

She realized there had been a few things about seducing her own husband that had surprised them both.

For one, she never realized how good he would be to her if she simply responded to him. She had completely turned her mind into pleasing him instead of meeting him with cold indifference. In doing so, she actually found more pleasure than she could ever imagine William would give her. It made her feel like a queen. She even allowed herself to become vocal with the spasms of her release. William was so delightfully astounded by her climactic wails, he stopped for a split second to make sure she was alright, looking a bit awestruck.

She felt as though she might have misjudged him. It was true that he had slept around on her. There were just too many rumors and things she had seen with her own eyes to ever doubt it. But he had done none of those things with her. She had begun by touching him the way she wished to be touched and in return he had been sensual with her- almost loving. She had expected him to mock her sexual inexperience, but instead he guided her to what felt good to him and then reciprocated with the same effort.

"I've been a fool," she heard him mutter. Her heart sank. Perhaps she hadn't pleased him and he was rethinking the bargain.

"I should have been more patient in the beginning," he continued, lifting his head to meet her gaze. "I'm sorry, Marybeth. I should have given you more time before running off and shaming you….and _myself_ the way I did."

For once, she understood him.

"We both made mistakes, William. I think we might have made up for some of them tonight," she replied, not sure of what else she should say.

William rose up and kissed her gently. "You were wonderful," he said, before settling back down in the comfort of her arms.

When they finally slept, Marybeth dreamt of babies.


	7. Chapter 6

Thanks Esther for helping Bordon sound more Bordylike...LOL!

To all my fellow Firefly and Adam Baldwin fans.

* * *

><p>6.<p>

Captain Wilkins searched the woods with keen eyes and tightly controlled patience as he drove the decoy wagon, luring the rebels into a trap. He knew they were out there watching, edging closer. From time to time he would hear the snap of a twig or catch something moving from the corner of his eye deep in the flanks of the trail. Each time, his chest would tighten in anticipation of the fight he knew would soon be upon them.

The Green Dragoons had been tracking the band for days now, through miserable rain and mud, waiting for an attack.

As much attention as Jim Wilkins paid to his surroundings, as much as he tried to stay alert, his mind kept wandering to Lady Tavington. The worst part was he could not help himself. He felt like a love sick fool when she ended their affair.

"I am sorry, Captain. We simply cannot continue anymore," she had said.

At first, he thought it had something to do with the harsh remarks he had barked at her when he left on patrol, or perhaps his avoidance of her at Middleton Place. But when she explained that her reasons were of a more personal matter, he almost felt slighted- even though he had been trying to distance himself from her. At first, he had thought of it as a relief. After all, he had been considering how he would make the break from her himself. It had left him feeling very conflicted and confused, and although Jim was the sort of man who usually kept his own counsel, he half wished he could confide in someone about the situation. He was always the type of fellow that others turned to with their problems. That was what had made him an excellent lawyer at one time. Now, the only person he had to discuss such issues was Bordon. He would never dare confess his sins with his commander's wife to the captain. Nor was he foolish enough to ever put his feelings about her in his journal.

Her words constantly echoed in his head. Along with the words no man ever wanted to hear from a woman.

"I will always think of you fondly and I hope I can still count you among my friends."

For some reason, that comment gutted him the most.

Just thinking of her still made him feel a bit ill. Seeing her around camp or escorting her wherever she needed to go was next to impossible. He no longer knew what to say to her. Letting go of her was much harder than he had expected. But her letting go of him hadn't seemed to bother Lady Tavington one bit. Even though sometimes, when he caught her looking his way, Lady Tavington appeared….stricken? Her obvious pity for him was a little more than he could bear. To think, he had been so worried about hurting her…..

Wilkins glanced at Bordon who was seated beside him on the wagon seat and smiled inwardly. The whole idea of this trickery had been Bordon's notion to begin with after Tavington's successful ambush the day before. Since the rebel militia was targeting military supply lines, Tavington and half of his regiment had managed to- temporarily at least- bring down a small band of rebels with a decoy supply train. What the rebels didn't know was that the wagons were loaded with British soldiers lying in wait. Eighteen rebels had been captured. And now Bordon and Wilkins had taken it as a type of challenge to see if they could fare any better.

The first part of their plan went into effect by leaking information to the enemy of the exact whereabouts of Loyalist merchants traveling through the area. The second part of their plan came with disguises- disguises which Jim was enjoying very much. And although it was in fact initially Bordon's plan, disguises which the captain was not enjoying in the very least. Being the larger of the two had come in handy during this mission for Wilkins. Jim had gotten off lightly by simply hiding his uniform under a great coat and hat. Bordon however, who had drawn the proverbial short straw, was stuck under a cloak and a large, albeit feminine looking hat of his own. Their disguises needed to be large enough to cover their weapons and yet allow them to look non-threatening. Both of them of course were being backed up several of His Majesty's finest hidden under a tarp. To anyone approaching, they appeared to be an innocent couple, hauling a potentially large cargo. But everyone in the entire county knew that any loot that could be used in illegal trade was valuable to the poorly outfitted rebels.

Bordon shifted uncomfortably on the wagon bench, scowling from under the wide brim of his rain-soaked hat. Bordon had seemed distracted himself a bit as of late and Wilkins wondered what was on his normally stoic friend's mind.

"Pray, remind me once more why I am the one in this hideous attire?" he grumbled irritably.

"You're wearing it so that we may look harmless and unarmed," Wilkins reminded him. He couldn't hide his grin as he added, "Besides, it matches your eyes…..you look lovely, you know."

Bordon shot him a baleful glance and started to respond with an obscene gesture, but quickly stiffened with sudden alertness as a rider approached. Wilkins was uncertain as to whether he recognized the man locally as he drew the team of horses to a stop. Nevertheless, when a few more men appeared from the flanks, blocking their path, he had no doubt they were rebels.

There were five that he could see. They could easily take five- even if it put them well under Tavington's eighteen- and possibly get information on where more where hiding. If there were any more hiding in the flanks, it could pose a problem. Nevertheless, it was a risk they had to take to put a stop to the terror the rebel militia were causing for the locals.

"Is there somethin' I can help you gentlemen with?" Wilkins asked, bastardizing his English just a bit in an attempt to sound more common.

The rebel leading the pack drew his pistol and carefully aimed it at Wilkins.

"Pardon me for intrudin' but we believe you're carryin' supplies for the British Army," the leader replied.

"Supplies we need. Supplies we plan on takin," another pock-marked rebel added with an arrogant smile.

"Well, they t'ain't yours," Wilkins shouted angrily in order to cue the men hiding under the tarp.

"You think we wouldn't find out you changed your route?" Pockmark argued back.

_Of course you found out_, Jim thought. It was made certain they found out.

"You goin' give us them horses and every damn thing else on that wagon," the leader said drawing his mount a little closer to Bordon. "And then I think maybe you goin' give us each a little one-on-one time with the missus."

Bordon kept his head low, slowly turning his body towards Wilkins as if seeking protection while concealing his face.

"Oh….. I think yer might wanna reconsider that last part," Wilkins said, stalling the confrontation as long as possible. Yer see, I married me a powerful ugly creature,"

"How can you say that?" Bordon shrilled, playing along. "How can you shame me in front of new people?" By the obvious expression on the rebel's faces, the captain's masculine voice caught them by surprise.

"If I could make you purtier, I would," Wilkins bickered, readying his weapon beneath his great coat and hoping Bordon was busy doing the same.

"You are not the man I met a year ago!" Bordon wailed, and then quickly boomed, "NOW!"

As the tarp suddenly came off the back of the wagon, nearly a dozen British soldiers leaped to the ground. For brief moment the only thing Wilkins could hear was the sound of muskets and pistols being cocked.

The rebels had been completely careless and now they were completely surprised.

Bordon had his twin pistols trained carefully on the leader, while Wilkins covered two more from his side.

"Now, think real hard about your next move," Bordon told the leader with deadly calm. "You've been harassing this township for too long. They wouldn't mind seeing your worthless corpse swinging from the nearest tree. Now, you can revel in a nice prison cell, but if your finger touches that trigger, I swear by my pretty lace cap I will end you."

A shot rang out but Wilkins could not be certain who fired first. He heard the ball zing past his ear as he flinched, ducking his head slightly. A soldier to his left yelped and Wilkins knew the man had been hit.

By then, all hell was breaking loose. There were in fact more rebels hiding in the woods. His original guess of five had turned into about twenty- and now they came crawling out of the flanks like termites from a burning log.

Wilkins heart pounded loudly in his ears as he shed his disguise and jumped down from the wagon bench, leaping into action.

He shot Pockmark from his horse, then, grabbed the reins, mounting the nag and taking off like a bat out of hell towards a hand to hand fight in the middle of the fray. Wilkins preferred fighting on horseback. With his height and build it always gave him the advantage which was one of the things that made being a Dragoon so appealing.

Wilkins hacked and slashed at anyone not wearing a British uniform. The fight was so tightly clustered; it was more difficult than one might think. The British regulars were not accustomed to this type of fighting. Some were cut down in the middle of the road as they attempted to reload their weapons. Some were actually ducking a dodging behind the wagon and horses as they fought just as they had seen the rebel militia do.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilkins caught Bordon taking on a young rebel wielding a bayonet. The rebel look almost petrified when Bordon charged him like a raging bull. The rebel dropped his weapon and turned to run, only to be stopped by two regulars who brought him to his knees.

When a man is in combat, time seems to stand still. Minutes can seem like hours. He concentrates on doing whatever is necessary for his own survival. When battle is over, the silence is deafening and he is left shaken-whether he shows it or not- when he realizes how close he came to dying.

In the end, British soldiers were lost but the rebel band surrendered and were taken prisoner.

That had been the goal of their mission and that mission was now complete.

Wilkins and Bordon would return to camp, eat, wash, sleep, and ready themselves for their next patrol.

* * *

><p>Two days later, James Wilkins was napping on his cot in the tent he shared with the other bachelor Dragoons. As dog tired as he was, it hadn't been difficult to doze off amidst the buzz of his fellow officers cleaning weapons, chatting and playing cards.<p>

_He was walking the long sandy beach near his brother Tommy's home... Mark and Jamey playing in the surf. Sweet little Callie skipped beside him to keep up with his long strides while she chattered away about little girl things. Wilkins swung his youngest, Jesse, up to perch on his shoulders….._

"Wilkins!" A voice startled him from his dreams. He opened his eyes to find his commander and Captain Bordon staring down at him.

"A plantation…Seven miles from Wakefield, on the Santee, east of Blackswamp, who lived there?" Tavington barked.

Wilkins sat up; registering what was asked and answered, "Benjamin Martin."

"He's The Ghost." Bordon said.

Wilkins was surprised. The last he had heard, Benjamin Martin was sitting out of the war.

"What do you know about him?" Tavington asked.

"Hell, everything," Wilkins replied. "I could tell you the size of his boot."

"Does he have family? Where would he hide his children?"

As soon as Tavington asked that question, Wilkins regretted ever opening his mouth. Whatever intentions Tavington had for Benjamin Martin's children, they could not be honorable. Regardless, Wilkins found himself in a rather precarious situation. If he refused to answer he would only prove Tavington's suspicions about his loyalty.

Wilkins glanced uneasily around the tent. Everyone's eyes were on him. Everyone was waiting for his answer.

"His wife's sister has a plantation. It's not far."

That afternoon once Tavington's plans to raid the Selton Plantation were made, Wilkins discussed his apprehension with Bordon.

"We can't let him do this, Bordon," Wilkins said adamantly while watching his friend pack his gear. Wilkins noticed the cot in the corner where Mrs. Bordon slept was missing. Had Bordon finally tupped his wife? He wasn't getting laid any longer and probably didn't want to know.

He snapped his focus back to the topic at hand and continued, "Whether Ben Martin is the Ghost or not, I could never harm another man's children."

Bordon stopped what he was doing and turned to face Wilkins-who found himself on the receiving end of one of Bordon's famous resolute stares.

"If this Benjamin Martin fellow cared as much for his children as you seem to, he would have never taken up arms against the crown," Bordon replied at last.

"And some might say if I cared about my own children I would have never joined as a Loyalist," He retorted. "It's wrong…..you know it's wrong."

"Perhaps….but the colonel would kneecap us both where we stand if we disobey him- or worse," Bordon cautioned. "And let us not forget Cornwallis has practically given him _carte blanche_ for this mission. Benjamin Martin mad an ass of the generals with that prisoner exchange nonsense. Cornwallis knows Tavington carries a grudge and would love nothing more than to run Martin through. So you tell me….what are we to do?"

An idea came to Wilkins' mind: one that would cost them severely if found out. An idea that would surely get them shot or hung as traitors. He shouldn't risk it with Bordon but he could see no other choice. He would need his friend's help to see it through.

"What if we could draw Martin out with a threat to his children without actually involving the children?" He asked tentatively.

Bordon raised an eyebrow. "I'm listening."

* * *

><p>Late that night with the moon high in the sky the Green Dragoons, with Colonel Tavington at the lead, rode up on the Selton Plantation. The house was dark and very quiet. But given the hour, they had expected it to be.<p>

Wilkins was anxious and jittery. Not so much because he feared they would indeed run into Martin and his men, but more so out of fear his scheme had failed or would be discovered.

Information leaked to the right people should have insured the Martin children would be long gone by now…..hopefully.

The men surrounded the house and began the search. They pulled servants and slaves from their beds, gathering them together on the front lawn of the mansion. However, neither Mrs. Selton, nor the Martin children could be found. And judging by a few still burning candles along with the fires dying in the hearth, they hadn't missed them by much.

Martin was near. Wilkins could feel it.

When Tavington questioned a house slave on the whereabouts of his mistress, the man balked and Tavington shot him dead.

No sooner had they set the house alight, Martin was there. Tavington called "to horse" but his efforts were futile. Even though the Martin children were probably safe, Martin himself had escaped.

Tavington was furious but Wilkins didn't care. He knew that what he and Bordon had done was the right thing for those children.

Wilkins could deal with losing his wife and had grieved hard for her. What was done was done and he had even forgiven Rachel. However, he could never fathom losing his children. They were his own flesh and blood. The idea of something happening to one of them...well, it kept him awake at night sometimes. More so than the horrors of war ever could. Because of that he could never sit idly by and watch harm befall another man's kids.

_Four years._ Four years he had been fighting for The Crown. If terrorizing children was the cost of winning, then Wilkins didn't want a part in it anymore.

Rob Hutchins was right. It was about time he went home.

But how and when?


	8. Chapter 7

Dear readers, I sincerely appologize for the delay on this next chapter. As some of you know, I am now working in retail again after my lay-off from my former dental assisting job. Working in retail means I have a crazy schedule and sometimes I don't get the time I used to have to spend on writing. I have not forgotten Lady T and Jim. It's just that having a day off here and there makes it difficult to switch gears and get back into my story. I realize it has been six months since I've updated but I hope you understand. After playing for fun with the last chapter I am now back on track with where I want this story to go. We're almost there!

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><p>7.<p>

Dizziness, headache, nausea and vomiting. Four symptoms that Marybeth Tavington knew all too well by early January. Of course there was an illness spreading throughout the British camp- there always seemed to be something going around. However, Lady Tavington was certain an illness was not the cause of her symptoms. She had already missed her flux in December and in a few days, she would have missed another. She hoped, she dreamed, she prayed that what she suspected was true; that she was with child.

For just few more days, she could relish her own precious secret, keeping it guarded close to her heart. Then she would be ready to tell William.

She wondered what his reaction might be. Would he give her his typical cool response that he normally gave to ordinary matters? Or would he be as ecstatic as she? Things between them were a bit better than they had been before they made their bargain. That is to say they didn't argue as much and she had no reason to doubt he had kept his word. But lately William seemed strained. Marybeth was certain it had more to do with the mounting pressure from Cornwallis to capture the rebel militia before they could disrupt supplies or terrorize Loyalist families any further. For now, she would wait patiently, anticipating an early end to this war so they could go home while trying her best to muddle through her symptoms.

Marybeth knew she should eat something but just the thought of food- let alone the smell of the cook fires- made her stomach roll and churn. What made matters worse, is that her illness seemed to last all day long rather than leave her in peace once she was up and moving. So instead of eating, she stayed close to the tent and keeping a chamber pot nearby, sipping some mint tea, reading a little and waiting for William's return.

It was just after dusk when he finally arrived. Breezing into their shared tent, William tossed his gloves on his desk announcing they would soon be billeted to a plantation near Orangeburg.

"Is this not happy news, dearest?" He asked, turning to her as he dropped his uniform jacket over a chair.

"Happy news indeed, William. It will be nice to have an actual roof over our heads again."

"Agreed," he said heavily. Sitting next to her on the edge of the bed he sighed, "Although the plantations here are nothing as grand as our Brookhurst, I am quite sure you will find yourself very comfortable there."

Something didn't seem right. William appeared calm- he even smiled at her when he spoke. Nonetheless there was something in his demeanor that set her on edge. His voice sounded cautious and distant. The once fine lines of his face were more careworn. It was as if he were wearing a mask. Marybeth wondered if her husband was becoming battle weary. Even more so, she wondered what lay beyond that mask.

William drew a small glass vial from his waistcoat pocket. Uncorking it, he offered it to her. "This is something the apothecary gave me for your ailment. He said it should ease the nausea and help you sleep. It's best if you pinch your nose and swallow it at once."

It wasn't until Marybeth choked down the herbal tasting concoction that William's mask slipped. If she hadn't known her husband as well as she did, Marybeth would have never noticed.

As though he read her thoughts, William's eyes narrowed with incredible malice as he brought his face within inches of hers. With as much vehemence as she had ever seen him muster he spat his cruel venom. "You'll not breed another man's by-blow- whoever it belongs to. Whatever it is you carry will be gone by morning. Then, my treacherous bitch of a wife, you will lie with me and me only until you bear me my son. I kept my part of the bargain and you _will_ keep yours."

Marybeth could only stare up at him in wide-eyed shock. Her heart seemed to stop with his trickery. The horror of what her husband had just said settled into her thoughts. Although he did not say so, William must have discovered her affair.

_Dear God, what has he done to me?_

Before he stormed out of the tent, he turned to flash his serpent's smile. "I doubt you will pass the night comfortably, madam, but I believe it to be an appropriate punishment. Have no fear, I haven't poisoned you and if it is God's judgment that you deserve another baby, you will conceive one."

Then he was gone.

As soon as she was certain he wasn't coming back Marybeth sat up, looking around blankly at the familiar space they shared. What had he given her? When would it begin? What would the potion do to her? What would happen if she screamed?

Speculating as to what was about to happen, Marybeth mechanically rose from her bed and dug through a trunk until she found an old wool blanket. She folded it to make a thick pad and positioned it on the mattress. She lay back down and tried to clear her mind, focusing on the sounds of the camp around her. She closed her eyes on bitter tears and willed herself to sleep feeling more trapped than she ever had felt before.

There was no one to help her, no one to love her. And now, her baby would soon be gone as well. There was no hope that it would survive for William never did anything in half measures. The irony of it all was that he had killed his own child. At this point, Marybeth could only pray for a quick end to what she was about to endure and that her lover's identity remained a secret.

In the following days Lady Tavington struggled. Her body weakened from severe cramping and bleeding, Marybeth had little strength left. But the worst part of her predicament was the effect on her spirit. She felt ancient and emotionally drained. She met William's icy indifference with more of the same. There was no more, "William," or, "dearest," or, "darling." She waited for his apology but when she realized she would never receive one, Marybeth refused to speak to her husband, only answering his questions when absolutely necessary with, "Yes, my lord," or "No, my lord." She refused food, only eating what she procured for herself- which wasn't much considering she rarely left the tent. When she refused a favorite pastry he offered as a truce, William finally gave up and stormed out of the tent, damning her and the day he ever laid eyes on her.

Lady Tavington smiled inwardly as she watched him go, never realizing that would in fact be the last time she would ever see her husband again.

Although it wasn't his intention at first, it was Captain Wilkins that eventually took her away.

Wilkins had again been given the duty of escorting her to Orangeburg. Upon seeing her condition and worrying that she would be unable to travel, Jim demanded to know what had happened to make her so ill. Marybeth could have easily demanded that he mind his own affairs. But the fact that he was there and the compassion in his eyes kept her from doing so. Besides that, Marybeth was exhausted and she needed him.

It was all Jim could do to keep his temper in check when Lady Tavington hesitantly explained what happened.

"That bastard son of a ditch-born drab!"He cursed. Jim was rarely given to swearing- let alone in front of a lady, but his face was as harshly savage as his words and for a moment Lady Tavington was taken aback.

"Has he said anything to you, Captain?"

"No," Jim shook his head. "The colonel wouldn't disclose something like this to me and I don't think he would have sent me to collect you if he knew about us."

He was quiet; too quiet. His expression gave no hint of his thoughts. He fisted his hands on his hips and she drew herself up, pushing aside the memory of how those hands once felt.

"I'm so sorry, Marybeth. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. If there were any way I could fix this I would."

Suddenly it became too much. She blinked up at him through a hot haze of tears and putting aside her pride, she begged, "Please, Jim, take me away from here. Not to Orangeburg, but someplace far, far away where he will never find me."

Marybeth knew what his answer would be before he even spoke the words.

"I can't. He is your husband. He is my commander."

"Please Jim," she pleaded. "Tell him I was already gone when you came for me. Tell him anything….but please take me away."

"I am sorry, my lady, it's too dangerous."

It was then that Marybeth gave up. She fell to her knees sobbing. Her grief shuddered through her as tears poured down her face. She was so tired and miserable. The lady had finally broken.

Jim was at a loss. He had no idea what to do. He raked his hair back with his fingers, wanting to pull it out by the roots. _Christ_, he couldn't stand seeing her like this. Each tear felt like a drop of acid on his very soul.

Jim reached down and lifted Marybeth by her arms, crushing her to his chest. Hoping to God no one would walk in on them, he rested his cheek on the top of her head. He found himself stroking her back, soothing her with his words- anything to make her stop- pleading with her.

"Please don't cry, Marybeth. Everything is going to be all right. You're killing me…..you're killing me."

Jim couldn't deny that it felt good to hold her again. As heartbroken as she was at that moment those memories were still etched in his brain. He had to do something- anything to help her.

When the crying ebbed Marybeth looked up at him, blinking through swollen eyes.

"I'll do it," he said, his words finalizing his decision.

"When?" She asked breathlessly.

"That depends on you. Are you well enough to ride?"

"I believe so."

"Then we should leave tonight. We are about to break camp for a move. Everyone will be too busy to notice you've left with me but right now….. We would be seen. Unless…..wait here. I will be right back."

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><p>"James Edmund Wikins! What have you done?" His sister scolded with a hiss when she realized the "soldier" she had just seen to a room upstairs was in fact a woman.<p>

Hours earlier Wilkins had whisked Lady Tavington away from the bustling camp unnoticed. But only because he had made her don a regular's uniform as a disguise. It had not been an easy journey; Lady Tavington was indeed still very weak and ill from her ordeal. The pair had to stop frequently to allow her a few moments to rest. At one point, just as she swayed, threatening to topple from her saddle, Wilkins had been forced to pull her onto his lap, tucking her under his great coat so she would not be seen. Within minutes he was surprised to hear a feminine snore and was willing to bet it had been the first time in days she had slept.

"I have done nothing with the exception of assisting a lady in distress, Em," he replied, frustrated with her indignance.

Wilkins watched his sister's expression carefully, hoping she would not ask too many questions. It would be best if Rob and Em knew as little as possible about their guest. Her face softened as she shifted her weight to one hip and crossed her arms pursing her lips.

Wilkins almost laughed. He had won.

He rested his hands on Em's shoulders and gazed into the kind eyes that were so much like his mother's. He had asked so much of her already. With everything she had done for him and his family it was difficult to expect anymore of her. Yet, he had one last instruction.

"I have a few arrangements to make before I send her away in a few days. Then she will be gone. Please, Em, she's been through so much already. She needs to eat and rest and recover. Don't make it any harder for her. All right?"

Em nodded as he hugged her. "All right, Jim."

Wilkins needed some rest himself and he would have liked to spend some time with his children. But he knew he needed to get back to camp before he was missed and he wouldn't dare risk anymore of his sister's -let alone Mrs. Joyne's wrath by waking the children.

Instead he sat down at his brother-in-law's desk and wrote out a few pages of instruction to his man of business in Charles Town.

Then, he went in search of the Fuller brothers.


	9. Chapter 8

8.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WAS NOT THERE, CAPTAIN?" Colonel Tavington raged at receiving the news his wife was missing.

"Just as I said, sir. When I reached camp Lady Tavington was nowhere to be found. I assumed she had already left with another escort or perhaps with the other camp followers and I returned here immediately to report to you," Wilkins explained to his commander, keeping his expression as blank as possible as he took another tongue lashing and praying his lie would not be detected.

As volatile as Colonel Tavington could be, Wilkins couldn't reckon a single instance when he saw the man so completely vexed. It had become obvious months ago that there was something not quite right about the colonel. Something in his mind seemed unhinged. He could change from reasonable or even a bit brooding to irrational and raving in the blink of an eye. His tactics were becoming more and more extreme and impulsive. Recently Tavington had even gone so far as to shoot a woman and her son point blank right where they stood. Their only crime; being the wife and child of a suspected rebel. And the only comfort Wilkins could take from the incident, was that he had been busy stashing Lady Tavington out of the way when it took place.

It wasn't just Wilkins or the other men that noticed Tavington's behavior. Even Bordon had subtly voiced his concerns a few times over their commander's mental state, mumbling such comments as, "The colonel will end up in a madhouse when this is over…..if he doesn't get himself killed first."

Yet everyone kept silent. None of them would dare risk the accusation of mutiny or treason by reporting higher up the chain of command. The chain of command couldn't care less as long as Tavington was getting results. Not only was the colonel higher in military rank, he was also higher on society's ladder as well. It would be next to impossible for his men to have him pulled from command without endangering their own lives-let alone their careers. They were damned either way.

Colonel Tavington continued to berate Wilkins as he stood at attention and although Wilkins had no choice but to wait it out, he would have liked nothing more than to stomp the bastard into a greasy spot on the ground. Wilkins knew even before he reported to his commander that morning, his military career was over. Even if Wilkins had not already decided to resign his commission when the war was over, he was resolved to it now more than ever.

Wilkins hoped like hell his involvement with Marybeth or his assistance in her disappearance would not be found out. For the moment, he knew she was safe. In a few days she would be well on her way to a new hiding place- and hopefully a new life- far away from the appalling treatment of her husband.

Before Jim had left her, he explained that she should use an alias so that his family would not know her true identity. She decided on a name that even her husband would not recognize and was introduced to Em and Rob as Katherine Powell- after a childhood friend.

"…AND SO HELP ME GOD, YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU WERE EVER BORN IF SHE IS NOT FOUND! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR, CAPTIAN?"

"Perfectly, sir," Wilkins responded, snapping back to reality.

Tavington seemed finished with his tirade as he cleared his throat and jerked the lapels of his uniform jacket. Moving on to his next subject of importance Tavington asked casually, "Pembroke, what do you know of it, Wilkins?"

Apparently there was nothing more to be said about Lady Tavington.

"Fairly well, Colonel. Although I have not visited since my wife's death, Pembroke was pleasant enough when my family and I lived there. There is no one of any political importance residing there. I am told however, that as of now the villagers are primarily sympathetic to the rebel militia."

"Very good," Tavington responded curtly. Then he seemed to ponder something before adding, "Perhaps it's time for a town meeting with the good citizens of Pembroke."

Where was the colonel going with this? Something in Jim's gut reacted and it screamed to him even though he was relieved to be dismissed with the order to have the men ready to ride within the hour.

Whatever would take place in Pembroke, Wilkins knew it couldn't be anything good.

What he didn't know, was that the colonel was making an inquiry about him the second he was out of earshot.

"Bordon," The colonel snapped at his second in command, "how exactly did Captain Wilkins wife die?"

Bordon glanced up from a field journal he was scribbling in and searched his memory for the answer. "I believe she died in a house fire, sir."

"Is that so?" The colonel replied with deadly calm.

Hours later, Wilkins rode like a bat out of hell for home. Not once did he notice the crisp January air bite into his cheeks. Nor did he notice the cold sweat that had soaked his shirt. He never noticed his horse beginning to tire or the nausea in his gut that would send any other man into the ditch retching. All he could think of was _home_ and how soon it would be in his sight.

Somehow Pembroke had gone horrifically wrong.

It was noon by the time he reached his sister's home. Wilkins pulled up his reigns in the stable yard and dropped them into the hands of a bewildered Ralph Fuller. The younger Fuller was never one to talk much and merely nodded when Wilkins ordered him to rest the horse but not to bother with his pack.

Before he headed to the house, he pulled out an old pair of practice pistols from a saddle bag and spoke to the old jockey, "You remember what I've asked you to do for me tomorrow?"

"Aye, sir."

"Do you have weapons?"

Ralph hesitated. "I got me fives and me knives."

"Then you'll take these as well," Wilkins said, handing the pistols over. "They're old and they shoot to the left a little but you keep them loaded. You give one to Billy and don't hesitate to use them if there's trouble, you hear?"

"Aye, sir," Ralph nodded. "Me and Billy'll take good care of your lady friend, sir."

"Thank you, Ralph. You're a good man."

When Wilkins reached the backdoor, he paused for a moment, his hand tense on the latch, listening to what he did not know. It seemed as though some sort of pandemonium had begun.

He heard voices. Children's voices. Shouting. Running feet and more shouting.

A strange squawking noise and then his brother in law called out, "I have it! Wait…no I don't!"

Mrs. Joynes could be heard next shrieking, "Shut the door! Shut the door!"

A door slammed hard then his sister bellowed, "For God's sake, do not let it out of the kitchen!"

Something crashed and shattered. Wilkins heard Rob curse just then and deciding that it was now or never, he opened the door to enter into the chaos.

A small bird flew past his head as the family cat streaked past him dead set on catching his prey.

"Oh, hello, Jim," Rob said, hands on his hips, panting for breath. "Welcome home."

"What in blue blazes is going on here? For a moment I wondered if the house was being raided. You frightened me half to death."

"No, no, nothing of the sort. The cat brought a dead bird into the house. Only problem was, the bird didn't know it was dead yet."

Wilkins nodded his understanding while assessing the damage to the kitchen. "I see. Where are my children?"

"Miss Powell has them corralled in the parlor to keep them from running after the cat."

Just then, with a look of panic on her face, Em burst through the kitchen door wielding a broom and came skidding to a halt, nearly colliding with her husband.

It was then that Wilkins realized everything was perfectly normal. Em and Rob were perfectly safe. Lady Tavington and the children were perfectly safe. Unfortunately, a stoneware crock had met its final reward.

Wilkins nearly lost his composure when he saw his children. They ran to him eagerly as was their custom for hugs and kisses and all the affection only their father could give. He listened to them speak with the greatest interest as they ate their dinner, smiling and grinning like a jack ass- anything to hide the shame and agony of what he had done that day. They must not ever know that their father was a coward. They must not ever know their father had murdered an entire village of people because he was too yellow to stand up to a madman.

Wilkins even stayed for supper that evening, not once letting on how much he was hurting inside.

_Didn't you say that all those who stand against England deserve to die a traitor's death? Burn the church, Captain._

Now and then Wilkins stole a glance at Marybeth. Would she understand why he had done what he was ordered? Would she understand that it had all been for her? To protect her? Would she be willing to do what he was about to ask of her? Would she take care of his children if he sent them away with her?

After supper- after Mrs. Joynes took the children upstairs- he had his answer.

"I'll take them," Lady Tavington said without a second thought. "For you, Jim, I'll take them."

"You cannot!" Em protested, tears welling in her eyes. "Jim, she cannot take the children away. They have been through enough. You _cannot_ send them away."

"I must, Em," he said, reasoning with her. "It is no longer safe here for any of you. I'd rather you all go….at least until this is over."

"I'll not leave my farm," Rob grumbled stubbornly.

_Tell me, Captain Wilkins, where do your loyalties lie?_ That question would forever echo in Wilkins' mind.

"You may not have a choice much longer, Rob," Jim retorted. "Regardless of whether you go with them or not, the arrangements have already been made with my man in Charles Town. Miss Powell and the children are leaving tomorrow at first light. I'm sending Mrs. Joynes as well as Ralph and Billy Fuller along with them for their protection. As soon as I can write it up, I'm resigning my commission."

"May we ask where you are sending them?" Rob asked, sighing heavily.

"You may ask but I will not answer. Not unless you go with them."

"I wish it hadn't come to this," Em said bitterly.

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." Jim reminded her. As cold as it sounded, it was true. There was no sense wishing that things would never change because as he had learned, they always did and always would.

Before he left that last night and while his sister was frantically packing for the next day's trip, Jim took a few moments to be alone with Marybeth.

He said nothing to her as he took her by the hand and led her outside to a private spot on the veranda. Drawing her away from the light of the windows he leaned against the railing and pulled her closer. Her face was darkened by shadows. Except for her eyes which stared into his with so much fear, sorrow, longing and desperation that he could only stare back, dumb and heartsick.

Neither of them spoke, but the air seemed charged with emotion and unspoken words.

_You might die tomorrow. _

_I might never see you again._

_How will I go on without you?_

_This may be good-bye forever._

_Forever._

And then he took her in his arms and kissed her, crushing her to him as if he could merge with her. She clung to him tightly as if she too could become part of him. He could smell her and feel her and hear her heart beating, perhaps for the last time.

As he rode away, Jim Wilkins made a promise to himself, to her and to his children.

Somehow, someway, come hell or high water, he would survive.

If only long enough to be certain Colonel Tavington did not.


	10. Chapter 9

9.

Wilkins would eventually learn to live with his guilt over Pembroke. However, he would never live with any guilt over his commander's death. Once he caught up to his fellow Dragoons near the Broad River at Cowpens, he thought he might be able to drive Tavington deep into the fight where he would meet his demise. If that idea failed, there were always battlefield accidents to consider and Tavington's recklessness certainly provided ample opportunity for Wilkins to make one happen. A soldier might be caught up in friendly fire, or possibly run through by a friendly sabre. Wilkins was disgusted at the thought he might be lowering himself to Tavington's level of vengeance. Yet the thought of his family's safety still took precedence over any misgivings he might have.

If Colonel Tavington ever knew who his wife's lover had been, he never let on about it. When Wilkins lied that morning, informing his commander that he found Lady Tavington well settled in Orangeburg, the colonel did not even seem to give a thought to it. Tavington was readying for battle, his mind was on other things. Had he shown the least little concern for his wife, Wilkins may have felt some guilt, knowing the lie he had just told would cement his determination in making certain Tavington never live long enough to discover the truth. In the end Wilkins plans for his commander's downfall would not be necessary.

The battle lasted less than an hour and when it was over, Tavington was counted among the dead.

Captain Wilkins on the other hand, was still standing, without so much as a scratch. He decided that day, after he tendered his resignation, by the grace of God, he would never again take the life of another man.

_Antigua, March 1781_

Marybeth Tavington- or Katherine Powell, as she was now known- sat patiently on the blanket that had been spread on the beach, watching her charges play in the sand and surf. Only Jesse stayed near her. The little boy had become very dear to Marybeth over the last two months. It seemed as though the two had bonded in some way as they waited for Captain Wilkins return. That's not to say Marybeth did not feel some special attachment for all four of the Wilkins children while posing as their governess, but Jesse was special. It was Jesse that reminded Marybeth the most of Jim in looks and mannerism and from day one, Jesse always seemed to be close to her skirts. Even when the other children ran out to play after lessons, he always seemed more interested in whatever occupied Marybeth. And although it was his fifth birthday and it had been his idea to celebrate at the beach, that day was no different.

Marybeth glanced at the boy by her side, watching him chew and suck on a piece of sugarcane.

"Why don't you go play with the others, Jesse?"

"Nah," the little boy answered. "Besides," he said after a pause, "when Papa gets here I want to be the first one to hug him."

"Is that the reason you always stay with me? Because you're afraid you might miss his arrival?"

"No. I stay with you because I like you. But he is coming today. It's my birthday."

Marybeth placed a hand on his back, patting him. "Jesse, you know your father is very far away. He may not come for a long while yet."

"He's coming, Miss Powell. You'll see," her little friend replied as if he could reassure her with certainty only a child of five would possess.

Marybeth smiled half-heartedly, hoping against all odds that Jesse was correct. It had taken her nearly two months to cross the Atlantic but only a few weeks to sail to Antigua. Still, she had not heard a word from anyone since arriving in Antigua. Not from the Hutchins'…not from Jim. She knew in reality that Jim may never come, that as they enjoyed the sunny weather and sea air, he could very well lay dying or already be dead. Although Thomas Wilkins and his wife Rebecca were gracious hosts she felt like a charity case living at their sugar plantation. It was often said by others that no news was good news but at that point she would take any news. She had no idea what had become of William. Was he looking for her? She shuddered at the thought.

She realized that somehow she would have to make a life for herself in Antigua. She could never go home to her family- they would only send her back to William. If he were dead she could rejoin them- as Brookhurst would go to William's cousin- and live her life with the freedom of a widow. But what kind of woman would wish the death of her own husband? The kind who had suffered intolerable cruelty. The kind who had only been given the tiniest crumbs of affection and respect only to have them swept away with jealous suspicion. Marybeth did not delude herself into thinking she had been a saint. She had tried to be the perfect, dutiful, faithful wife and failed. Perhaps to some her punishment had been justified.

At least if Jim were there she might have a chance at starting a new life with him. She had thought the last time she saw him that he was about to tell her he loved her. Realistically she knew it had not been the right time. Maybe now, it could be. She felt her nose begin to sting and her eyes water as it dawned on her that she had never really given him up in her heart after all. If he would have her, she would seriously consider accepting him and everything that came with him.

Marybeth was too busy looking out for Mark and Jamey who were rough-housing in the water to notice Jesse absently drop the sugar cane from his hand as he stood. It wasn't until she spared a glance at Callie who had been poking things in the sand with a stick that it occurred to her they were not alone. Movement caught in the corner of her eyes and she expected to turn to find a servant or possibly Mrs. Joynes coming out to meet them.

Jesse screamed and ran to the dark figure approaching them, flinging sand in the dusty wake of his trail. "PAPA! PAPA! I KNEW YOU'D COME!

The boy leapt into his father's arms before his brothers and sister could beat him to it.

She stood by silently watching the happy reunion unfold, feeling like the outsider she was. From what she could see, Jim looked well. Although he no longer wore his uniform- which had become so much a part of him- he was finely dressed, looking more like a lawyer than she could ever imagine. Amid all the childish commotion his gaze met hers, his clear blue eyes telling her that she had not been forgotten.

_Later,_ they said. Then he smiled and she knew without ever having to ask, that everything would be all right.

The walk back to the house was torturous and the rest of that afternoon even more so. As happy…no…as ecstatic as he was to be with his family, Jim wanted nothing more than a few quiet moments alone to speak with Marybeth. Nonetheless it seemed that whenever he might catch a break, one of the children or his brother had something they desperately needed to tell or show him. Eventually, he did manage to communicate with her in passing. "Come to me tonight," he'd said low against her ear and she nodded her agreement.

Late, when the rest of the house was quiet, Marybeth tip-toed through the dark to Jim's room. She lifted a hand to tap on the door just as Jim opened it. He moved aside to allow her to enter, peeked up and down the hall and shut the door, locking it. Rather than make a move for her as she half expected, Jim stood with his back to the door and meeting her eye to eye in the soft glow of the candlelight, struggled to find words.

"Marybeth, I just want you to know that no matter what you choose to do from this point on, I will always-"

"He's dead isn't he?" She cut him off. "William is dead?"

"Yes," he answered contritely.

She felt her own hand cover her mouth as she tried to summon some kind of emotion and felt… nothing.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, his eyes never once leaving hers.

She shook her head slightly, "I am not. I thought I knew him and I suppose I will think of him from time to time. But he never wanted a life with me, Jim. He never wanted me, only what I could offer."

"I understand. Believe me I do. I still think of my wife now and then. It's hard not to with the children. I don't want you to feel as though I need you to take her place but I need you. I can't give you a viscountship but I can give you a comfortable life," his lips quirked as he added, "if you can tolerate all the lawyer jokes."

"Are you asking me to marry you?"

"I am."

Marybeth stepped closer, closing the gap between them. She wanted to give him the answer he sought but she needed to think carefully. It wasn't that she had many doubts but she hadn't expected his proposal to come so soon. "May I sleep on it?"

Jim nodded, wrapping his arms around her waist. His touch felt so good Marybeth nearly cried from it.

"Jim?"

"Yes, Marybeth?"

"Would you kiss me now?"

He chuckled softly, "Absolutely."

A hand slid up to cradle the back of her head as he touched her mouth with a deep, compelling kiss. Marybeth couldn't remember the last time they had made love- it seemed so long ago. But she knew that although it had been satisfying, it had also been quick. Now, it seemed they would have all the time in the world and it felt so good to at last let her body enjoy being in his arms. She loved him. She truly did. And before they went any further, she tore her lips away to tell him so, not caring if he said it back. But he did.

They seemed to do an erotic dance of sorts, pulling off wrapper and banyan, shirt and shift. Jim kissed her face, her neck, her shoulder. Her fingers skimmed over his ribs, his shoulders, his backside, delighting in the textures of his hard muscled body- and the way hers tingled pressed up against it.

Suddenly he scooped her up in his arms. He carried her across the room and tossed her on the bed, tumbling down beside her. His hands and mouth were everywhere, kissing, licking and nibbling, stroking, fondling, until she nearly went out of her mind with need of him. She arched against him desperate for more.

"Please, Jim," she begged.

"Shhh," he answered, bringing his mouth back to hers.

Their bodies were made for each other. She knew how to please him and he seemed to know exactly what she wanted. Soon, she relaxed, pulling him closer as he adjusted himself over her. She loved the feeling of his weight upon her and opened her legs wider to receive him.

Marybeth gasped at the joy of his body filling her. She wasn't the only one in awe of that moment. While Jim's hips flexed and moved with her Marybeth heard him murmuring, "…so good…so good.." like some kind of magical incantation.

His breathing quickened. His skin flushed. His movements took on purpose and Marybeth felt that familiar ache inside winding tighter and tighter until she sprang, bursting apart like a broken watch. Then she experienced his release, felt it in the inner most recesses of her very soul and finally understood what it meant to be _one_.

For a long time she held him tightly as he lay upon her, combing her fingers through the thick curl of his hair and dragging her feet up the backs of his long calves. Neither of them could speak and neither of them needed to.

When Jim finally moved off of her she felt momentarily bereft. That is until he tugged her to his chest, settling them against the pillows, flipping the covers over their sweaty bodies.

Marybeth was content and she realized she wanted nothing more than this man.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Hmmm?" He smiled against her temple.

"Yes, I will marry you, Jim," she said a little louder.

"Good," Jim sighed with relief. "I was afraid you might say no and Sugar, I think we just made a baby."

As it turned out, he was right!

They named him Justin

~The End


End file.
